


The Realms Anthology

by Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness



Series: Originals, Pinterest Gab and other Scenario Requests [7]
Category: Kingdom of the Trinity Realms
Genre: Battle, Collaborative Works, F/F, F/M, Forty Strong, Gen, Iron Chrysanthemum, Iron Flower, Kingdom Stories, Legion - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Multiple Authors, Original Character(s), Original Characters - Freeform, Original Fiction, Other, Roleplay, Roleplay Logs, Roleplaying Chronicles, Short Stories, Shorts, Trinity - Freeform, Weather Beast, collaborations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2019-12-30 18:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness/pseuds/Yuri_the_Eighth_Demoness
Summary: In a kingdom where adventure is never-ending, we meet the extraordinary men and women that roam these lands and the contradictory denizens that write its stories. Welcome to the Trinity Realms.--This is actually based off an actual BRP Group and its many chronicled adventures since 1999. It is my honour to bring their amazing tales to life.





	1. The Servant I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the story of the Black Glove named Alfred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always loved the lore of the Darklings. They intrigue me to no end. And the people that had encountered them...they must be the bravest souls there are in the Realms story. (O o O)

Dull and unimportant.

He was known simply as a servant, the real name being Alfred but that was no longer an issue in the matter. Since he took the job here, he more or less appeared to have sworn to losing all manner of identification, only addressed as "You!" or "Him!" or "Hey!". There are other more unorthodox namesakes such as "That fellow with the dumb expression" or "The rubbish over there" or even "The potato peeler" which was one of his tasks here, assigned to him by those in the higher tier. He cared less. Whatever as long as it paid him better wage than what he had been paid for before. Because in this world, money mattered more than your pride or dignity.

He was born in the outskirts of an unknown village in the clutches of Senejol. At the age of five he already knew what it meant to do hard labor, his family part of the working class in their community paying for a debt their ancestors had taken upon themselves a long time ago. Their entire village was the ownership of a larger town. Everyone in it had to work their lives off in the salt mines.

They had been toiling all their lives. Despite putting in many hours, the debt only seemed to grow. He saw how his family and their relatives were exhausted to rags, only able to eat less or lesser a day, meager meals of corn and potatoes you can 't even salt. No one touched the salt. There were guards who watched over the mounds. Those found stealing were killed and buried in the pile according to some urban myths. He did not believe them.

"There's money in other places and palaces that soar to high heaven," when he was a child, he'd heard these things being said.

Old wives' tales as he himself had not been anywhere else but their village, much less others who've grown and died in it. He did sit and gape whenever they spoke of these cities as if they had visited them, describing those massive halls and tall buildings, the ambitious thoroughfares and capriciousness of the rich and elite obvious in the construction of mansions and large business dens.

There are many aristocrats they said. They had debated about the Royal Family having many children, of how beautiful the Queen was or how regal the King who ruled everyone appeared. But no one has seen them really. These were but mad fancies composed by hapless denizens as they hacked and picked through the walls of the inner caves, the discussion a relief in the darkness.

Alfred has never even known about princesses and they say there were many in the courts. Despite knowing how to read and write, he did not quite understand what these stories meant. To him they were not real.

That was until he was sold off. Happened after a pestilence swept through their town and killed all his relatives. They said it may have been purely out of luck that he survived but barely, found by some nuns he did not recall the faces of now. The next thing he knew was he had woken up in a camp. The nuns had gone, replaced by the cold slavers who were buying out the people of their village cheap from the larger town whom they were indebted to. He was one of those sold in a heartbeat: "That one is a strong worker. You can use him as a laborer to clean the palace walls."

He had also been sold for a higher price than the rest. Something to do with the way his muscles had developed, the way his build was formed. He was to be a servant but to where? To whom? To what?

Young and naive, Alfred thought it was just going to be another mine from there onward. Not even given the chance to mourn and get over his loss, he was thrown into another set of wretched tunnels that reeked of heat and darkness, where he would eventually die a worthless death, pounding at the walls in a never-ending cycle. He'd stare at these caves until he was reduced to nothing. Such was the chaos wrapping his child's mind then. But he was so wrong.

They had walked a very long path to the place where they were supposed to 'work themselves to death'. Alfred had seen the misery, heard the cries and the definite pleas for the cease of maltreatment from those he knew to have been part of the dull existence of their village. He had likewise seen how the crowd swelled as they trod barefoot towards uncertainty, each dying village or town a sure source for the wretched like themselves, pickings for slavers.

He had witnessed illness, watching as one by one some of the people in their line fell dead with eyes wide open. He'd stared at the blankness of the elderly as they rolled, weakened, left in the forests or fields for the monsters to pick the bones of. Everyone looked dead or dying soon after a few weeks. He himself was reduced to wearing shreds, soles blistered, body nearly giving up. Water was scarce. Food, even scarcer, most of them near to being bones when one of the fattened handlers announced they were approaching the city. This was where it all changed for him.

Despite being bound hand and foot, walking like a zombie in a procession with the rest of the other 'bought' commodities (also known as sklaves), he stared wide-eyed at the wonders of this area as they passed by the magnificence of what he later found out to be the Capital. Such Alfred has not seen before, even dreamed of before. The cities he had only imagined in the vast darkness of the mines he grew up in as a child were nothing compared to what he'd seen when he arrived into one of them in real life. This was a large territory, with buildings rising to high heaven and bridges connecting them. He could never forget those mighty bridges.

As his companions lusted towards the food pedaled in the back alleys they were reigned through, mouth watering at the choice fruits and street meats being tarried around, his eyes hungered for something else. Alfred wanted to explore such a vastness. He had never felt such a strong urge to familiarize himself with a location before. The feeling of hunger different from one which made his stomach growl.

Would he be able to see a mansion? Is there a palace here? A library? Who owned them? What were the people here like?

In his excitement he actually stared at the passing coaches, at the chubby, happy faces of children staring back at him. Likewise at the repulsed expressions of the peacock-like adults as they waved their handkerchiefs before their noses. As if the caravan of slkaves were sickening. They drove past fast, in much hurry. "There is nothing to see here," he could hear as the parents steered their children away.

Alfred did understand why such a division existed. He did know why they would be seen as vile and repugnant beings. He did not care. Even if those others in their line covered their faces and sobbed at such a disparity, he was simply steadfast. He burned for something else.

Because despite all the things he'd experienced so far, everything was still somehow new. Especially here where everything shone in a desirableness he could not fathom. Like a beacon blazing brighter than the sun for lost ships tossed by the stormy waters. That's how he saw this new city. That's what it was which had him looking right at everything. But this was somewhat short-lived. They went underground and the experience was cut briefly.

He remembered stretching his dirty hands to the light as he was dragged into a small opening, could hear a creek as the bars of the gate shut closed. Yet he could not get to it, could not fight it, the ebb and tide of the others before and after whose chains carried him in with them. Madness. This was when he realized where exactly he was. He was a slave. That was what he was and no more than that...

Inside the facility, the crowd was spread. Him and the others chosen with him were tied to the walls and blindfolded as the rest were off somewhere. He never saw them again. Then a horror, Alfred was definitely stripped, feeling the cold of the walls then the cold of hands as the only possession he literally owned was torn away from him, leaving him defenseless and shivering. But it did not stop there. They were bathed. Baptized in cold water, he shuddered as he was scrubbed clean of filth, finally allowed to see these men referred to as 'handlers' come in to 'inspect' their bodies.

These were rather cold beings. They seem to not have souls in their eyes as they stared at one to another, spreading legs, checking scars and fingering private areas Alfred himself was scared to touch. They took those who were 'virgin and ripe', fancied a lovely lady with dark locks down the line and another good-looking male down the other end.

She was wrapped in purple and collared off. He was tested, the handlers observing how he would react to a certain sweet smelling drug that they made him inhale. Alfred was not one to particularly have an idea about anatomy and how his own body reacted to certain substances, but when he saw this male's body give to a shiver of liquid release that pleased the handlers, breaking into hearty moans at the same time, he got scared.

He was a virgin. Not to elevate himself, they did say he had a well-sculpted body before, though now it may be ravished by hunger. He was no sick cattle. Would that mean he would also meet this fate? The other ones chained to the walls looked like they had the same fears in mind. Some of them started to cry, to plead. Others sought to struggle. Alfred did nothing. He only recalled the outside and its sheen and gave up. "If only I could see it again..."

"Did you send me the remaining humans? I would prefer you did before Vittorio got them first. Again," a voice broke into chattering down the only hall separating them from salvation. Since the space was enclosed, it echoed like it was supposed to.

Alfred looked up weakly. Another handler? Was the number in the room not enough? They were already outnumbering the slaves two to one, continuing to force elixirs down those they chose, or inserting things into their anuses to torment the more stubborn who now writhe in what seemed to be a mix of pain and pleasure. The penises rose erect like banners, squirting juices onto the earth. The female's nipples and other flesh perked and watered. This was madness! Are they being prepared for a life unheard of in his village?

"Are these ones for Sklave?" the voice finally became a face, turning out to be that of a lady in tight pants and a loose blouse who pushed her glasses up from where it always seemed to slide upon the bridge of her nose.

She had a gentle face framed by neatly pleated locks, but this seemed illusory, especially since he could hear her curse in what seemed to be several languages. She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear finally, feeling a draught from the outside blow in, crinkling her nose as she spoke with much authority, "This one is too quiet!" she was pointing to a female being drugged and rubbed.

"We've just started to get her accustomed. She'll receive better training in Sklave."

The handler was taller than her but she managed to point a finger at him. "They better. Doesn't Mistress Domini need quality?"

The handler only bowed. "Of course Head Trader."

Head Trader? This was the first time Alfred had heard of the title. The first time actually that he had seen a person of authority that seemed to be able to control the destiny given them. Could he perhaps talk to her? Perhaps he can beg her to release him from this? He could be a good servant, a laborer in the fields or mines even! He just needed the chance!

The woman now paced, "Let's just make sure the deliveries are all well timed. The ones you loaded in the wagon cages earlier will go to Senejol. The next ones rejected from them can just be sent to the Lovat Palace for consumption I guess. Just don't let Chrysa see them? She has such kindness bless her heart."

Then again, how could he even? When Alfred opened his lips, only a dry hoarseness ensued, making him whine with a certain guttural sound he himself barely heard. He tried to struggle against his chains for attention.

"What about the rejects here? Will we send them there as well?"

Alfred stopped. Like a statue he became quite still. He had been slow to catch that didn't he? But the second time it was implied he actually shuddered himself not only for the lack of clothing but for a new wave of fear. There was a place in this beautiful city which took slaves like himself for consumption? He suddenly imagined himself butchered for meat parts like those they passed coming here. The Head Trader had other thoughts in mind though, thank the gods.

"And waste resources?" she rolled her eyes, arms sliding over her chest as she crossed them there. "Send them to the Palace."

"Excuse me? You want to send them to staff the King's Palace?"

He apparently said something she did not like because now she was seething once again, this time smacking the handler on the cheek as she frowned. "ARE YOU DAMNED MAD!" she went on a litany that drowned the continuing moans in the background. "Do you think the King will like the idea of having slaves in his domain?" Again she whipped her finger out at him in emphasis. "The royal palaces can only be staffed by DENIZENS. Slaves are a no. Just. NO!"

Then she turned to look towards Alfred's direction, scowling as he stared back at her, those eyes clear despite the limited light of the torches and candles. This time he felt another chill. This person they called the Head Trader was heartless. He knew his pleadings would reach deaf ears as the latter's eyes shone with a frightening glint, catching the light.

He did not understand what she meant next, but before he turned his head aside in fear, biting his lip, her words sounded like they would be in dire circumstance here after. "Send them to the Continent."

* * *

It should have not at all been surprising that he was rejected. An old scar found just at the back of his leg saved him from being permanently carted over to that place they called Sklave, which was being explained to them by this handler chaining them off now, to be a place for sexual pleasures. Where both nubile youths and beautiful maidens offered their bodies to be played upon by perverted patrons. In whatever way the latter wanted.

Alfred could not help but feel relieved, though he was somehow worried still. Worried for those sent to that wretched place. Such a fate awaited them. He was worried for his own life as well. He was just as uncertain of the fate that was waiting for him. Though he had been saved by the scar which was a souvenir from his childhood, what if this only led to other things? Worse things?

"Take them straight to the Hold," said the Head Trader as they were loaded into a caged wagon, the canvas being adjusted over it so they could be covered and hidden. "Not a word to the Sire. He does not need to know what we do."

"Yes Mistress Williams."

Alfred pondered at those words as they were shrouded and left under the dark of the covering, the sound of a whip and the panting Armored Horses clopping their hooves to the ground, digging earth. They were off. To a location unknown. Who was the Sire? Why does he not know? What does he not know? That they were being treated like this?

He could only see and feel despair as their carriage pitched onward, an uncomfortable toss to one side then the other as the wagon moved. He wished for stars. He wished for certainties. There were none. He could no longer see the gleaming of the city. He was surely far from it now. He could only hear the sounds of the clanking chains and sobbing, faces and bodies felt which were again dressed in rags. An eternity seemed to pass them by.

He fell asleep. Rocked by the motion of the carriage, he was thrown into dreamless slumber. No nightmares. Nothing but the dark. Very deep. As if his body was hurtling down towards an abyss much like those pits they had in the mines, bottomless and immeasurable. He wanted to fall and never hit below ever, but then he was woken up. By a voice. "Boy, you're home." Was he home?

He opened his eyes. There was a glare of sunlight. It was so bright he had trouble adjusting once more, squinted as someone yanked him down from the wagon, nearly stumbling as the other slave behind him stumbled. Where was he?

A butterfly floated before him. Wait, a butterfly? Alfred's senses seemed to have opened one at a time. His eyes beheld color, his nose took in the scents, ears to sound, skin to feeling the breeze. They were being piled out onto a garden surrounded by cottages, and it was one such that he had not seen before. They were outside!

Him and the others must have looked very lost. They all turned about, looking at what was the largest garden they've probably not seen in all eternity, with its massive trees bearing fruit, plants and shrubs of many blooming flowers. There were bees buzzing, butterflies, insects. He could not name them all but he felt delighted. He felt so elated again that he forgot where he was until one of the guards threw him back in line. Now he remembered it again. It was just he was exceedingly excited. The pain in his gut was nothing then compared to this little piece of happiness.

"Daniel, these are the newlings," was what the handler said as a straight-backed, high-chinned, glove-handed man stepped out to see them. Did he purchase their lot?

"They appear to be a good set. Master massacred the last batch. We needed replacements in earnest," this Daniel spoke as if the word referring to merciless bloodshed that frightened Alfred and the others was such an incredibly simple thing. "The payment is already on its way to the Merchant Traders' Faction."

So they had been sold again. From the fate of sexual labor they were sent here. But for what? Massacred? Daniel was obviously not the Master of the place based on his statement, but his words, did that mean the Master enjoyed killing slaves? The handler was now going. He wanted to scream curses at him. Were they going to die? There was panic. Before he was smacked right across the face.

"Not yet put to work and you are noisy. Master will not like that," said Daniel, taking the glove off the hand he had used to hit Alfred with, having dirtied it by touching the slave.

He also had that look. The one of recoil and distrust, disgust. Soon, others like him began to file out from inside the large house behind them. They all had the same nonchalant expression. They were all as cold as this Daniel. They all watched the slaves fuss and sob in misery. Alfred fell still, even as he was hoisted up on his feet again and cramped over with a few others, as they were pushed off into groups, separated once more. What was going to happen?

_'Are we...going to die?'_


	2. The Servant II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and the continuation of his adventure.

"Hey Alfred! Wake up!"

The servant traced his eyes from the shiny floor up towards the source of the voice, looking at the face of the girl people knew around these parts as Katia. Despite having a discoloration of freckles on her skin, she had the kindest heart. Even if this Palace in majority did not. Sometimes.

"You're drifting off again but I must say I'm impressed. You scrubbed the entire hall!"

She beamed down at him, tucking her gloved hands behind her back, giving him a warm smile. Katia was the lead for the 'cleaning team'. They only came out during the days when everyone was gone. But it had bothered Alfred. Who was 'everyone'? Where did they go to in the mornings?

...when Alfred was first introduced to the life of being a servant, he was aimless. Not schooled enough to read or write any other subject, he could only be trusted with minor tasks such as piling the dishes, sweeping the yards or kitchens after the cooks, mopping the vast halls within and weeding the garden. Sometimes he was sent to the roof where he would scrub out the thickening rust to apply a new coat of paint. He did not at all complain however. These were fairly simple things to be done compared to how he used to work in the mines. He rather enjoyed it, being able to do lighter duties, and when he found out they were getting paid, he was even more ecstatic.

Money. More than the few coins he received from staking off rocks from the hardened walls. Real money that had value, had weight, ones that clanked in his pockets whenever he and his new-found friends in the Palace took to the nearest town for a day out.

He was somehow very happy here. Contented even though from time to time he'd encounter another servant who would bully him. And of course the senior staff referred to all of them as nothing. They knew no one by his or her name. Except Katia. Katia called everyone by their names even the lowliest of the lot.

"So looks like we're done here. You can now enjoy your day Alfred," the lady gave him a pat on the shoulder as he was gathering his bucket and rags, his mop and cleaning potions.

Enjoy his day. Well, he had plans. There was a festival somewhere he wanted to get to, maybe with the other servants who were thinking about the same thing. He was confident they can be back by the afternoon sun. Because the butler, Daniel, warned them how dangerous it was in DarkThrone during nightfall. All the servants for the morning were always sent to bed early. It was one rule they had to obey. For their own safety, Katia informed them.

In the Palace, there were some places only the Black Gloves could get into. The Black Gloves referred to those servants who came in for the night shift, staffing the kitchens, the halls and other places otherwise forbidden to Alfred and the other morning servants (ironically referred to as the Whites). Some say these were the special aids. The Black Gloves were the ones who were up catering to some parties done in the evenings, those whom had a stronger force of will to work the night and its _darkness_.

Darkness. Alfred often asked what was so different with night-time work. Surely, they would involve the same processes and procedures. The same rounds and specificity. Albeit maybe there were those intriguing night visitors and audiences the other older servants gossiped about. The ones he chanced upon when he could not sleep some nights, returning to the Servants' Quarters after a stroll in time to the arriving caravan of hooded men whom came to see the Lord of the Palace, tarrying gifts and boxes, crates and containers in for _him_. He wanted to see where they were going, or what the so-mentioned 'Lord' looked like, but Katia caught him and sent him to bed with much warning.

That was the only time he's ever seen her so angry. "We are not to meddle with the night service! That is not our responsibility!"

She even gave him the cold shoulder for a few days. Alfred was disappointed in himself then as Katia was one of his closest friends. He vowed never to question what he saw any more although at the back of his mind the curiosity never faded.

There were rooms and places in the Palace not allowed of the morning servants. These were the Throne Room whom Alfred never saw to have received any guests in the mornings, and a section of apartments set apart to the side of the locale that was said to be a house of some sort, yet stayed off-limits to them.

No one ever talked of what was in that section, but he sometimes heard rumors it was where 'pets' were kept. What pets? Dragons and monsters? He had seen them before. Did they mean those when they spoke about these things? If they did, those must have been some very quiet monsters. Not even a growl. Like always the Palace was silent, and its secrets stayed where they may even as he scrubbed and toiled under its canopied ceilings and mosaic walls, making them spotless for a Master he has never seen once in his life.

* * *

Alfred was running late.

The others had decided to stay behind in town after the festival but he had chores real early, which was why he could not possibly chance upon going back to the Palace at day break. He needed to be up by that time. The trip back needed to be tonight.

Taking a late coach, paying twice the sum of fare for good measure, he found out they only ever really brought you to the outskirts at this hour. The drivers already refused to take passengers within close proximity of the territories surrounding DarkThrone Palace, saying that there were curses, of an evil that existed inside it which none could understand. They were scared, the old man who drove the coach with a worried voice asking him if he was really certain he wanted to walk through the paths at this hour, that he could take him back to town if he wanted. Alfred declined, paid and on the other only wondered as he bid the old man a pleasant night. He trudged in alone.

Certainly there was a strictness to the Palace. A peculiar manner which often made the morning servants ask. Like how in the morning there were sometimes the bare traces of a gala the night before but then these were just really the smallest. How there was a smudge here and there which Alfred himself polished clean, good as new. Sometimes there were blood spots on the furniture, but those likewise were minimal to a fault but to him were as noticeable as a wall mural. As if the Palace was different at night as it was in the day, he imagined, each separated from the other by a set of cleaners who picked up after the mystery guests and the activities which they did. The music was low and silent but there was music sometimes. It faded with the daylight...

Alfred could hear the hoot of owls as they swooped in, talons sank into the preys caught. He could envision the hungry tear of beaks and blood. Nature all around being their normal selves.

There were also the sound of bats, of crickets, faint traces of fireflies and night flower perfume down the bend as he took the path. He needed no light to see. He knew this way by heart. Ever since he was allowed to walk on it, he had memorized it like so. Every stone, boulder, tree stump or protruding root.

It was a rather beautiful night. There were the bright stars and constellations which despite the lack of a moon was able to shine their brightest upon his way. It was not cold. It was actually comfortable, making his stroll down the road a pleasant excursion he somewhat wanted to do again.

He was not scared of the gloom in the ever stormy horizon. He was not really fazed even as the bushes shook and the tree branches scratched, making those eerie sounds some of the servants still feared even during the day. This was home to him now and it was better than most. He had endured worst, what could still be there to tack him off? With a whistle he doubled his pace, only because he needed to be back inside by a certain hour or Katia might scold him again once he was caught, contemplating on whether or not he should stay in the cottages instead.

Earlier she had said, "When you cannot help but be late, do not come home."

"But I have work tomorrow bright and early."

"Then make sure you come back before sunset," she had pointed a finger at him with a scowl. "Remember NOT to forget yourself."

But he had forgotten himself. He had drank a bit more of Mountain Wine than he was able which caused him to fall asleep on a table as his other friends talked with the ladies of the town. They had been dancing with the gypsies in their silken costumes and some Ensemble maidens who played songs about adventures in the other places of the Realms, humming tunes about rough seas and angry gods and a female called the Muse who could grow flowers in her hair. They also told of tales about DarkThrone itself, declaring in lyric the story of the residents, of a witch and her brood and the darkness in it.

Again, that 'darkness'. Alfred has grown unafraid of it, as he was now, feet only optimistic to return quickly as he hurried round a corner and over a final bridge, whatever monsters lurking within the forests surrounding him confidently fended off by an open potion deterrent. Another good thing about servitude for him: he was able to learn a lot of new things...

Finally he had made it back, the cottages and stables belonging to the morning servants now closed and without light before him as he instead strayed to the outer courts rather than directly to the Palace. Everyone was probably asleep, and so should he be, his hand digging into a pocket for his key. But as he was about to head uphill towards the cottage he kept with the friends he left back in town, he noticed it from the corner of his eye, that caravan of coaches again, the night procession with their lamp lights low before them. Alfred was most definitely curious again. A little tipsy on wine, a bit bold and enthusiastic, he went to investigate closer.

Usually, he slept inside the Palace itself, in the Servants' Quarters tucked to the side of the structure, surrounded by a garden whose court was where he himself and countless others once stood after being bought from the slavers. Some faces came and went. He never really questioned what happened to these people, but rumor has it you could actually serve to earn your freedom here. That someday, after all that you do for the owner of the Palace, you could retire to a comfortable life.

Again, he did not care. He seemed not in the mood to leave any time soon. He also had no intentions of giving up this work. It paid him in Lords and Lyons. He was secured here. He did not have to think of tomorrow except when it came to his common duties.

For now, back to the goal at hand. He wanted to see what was happening, brave because of the liquor in his veins, as the procession galloped up front and him taking one of the side entrances, creeping in quiet as a mouse. Inside he swept past the secret rooms only he was given privilege to know of. On the basis that he had to clean them himself.

Alfred half ran, half walked then, sneaking past the curtained separations and anterooms to finally stand in front of the set of doors he was not allowed to even think if breaching.

His heart pounded just standing there. He looked up at the carved front of the threshold and its arches, the molded statues of naked yet strong beauties both male and female that seem to materialize from the wall and floors to stand here eternally. Such beautiful objects of art made to hold the lintels and beams.

His thoughts were straying. Had he been sober enough he could have discerned that this was not the best thing to do. It was a clear violation of the separation between their duties in the mornings and those behind the duties at night. But he was clouded. At this moment he was just anothe boy with such a starving curiosity that he wants sated. Like that day in the city. How it shone as bright...

Slowly pushing against one of the side doors, he checked for resistance, sure enough that it could be locked except it was not, and he slipped inside easy. There he stood now, on a carpeted hall, looking up to see traces of a large and what seemed to be the only chandelier lighting the room. A few scattered candles casting their meek glow along them. Was this the Throne Room? The servant stood there confused as he sought to make up anything in this shade. Then just shivered. It was colder here.

"...Aahhnngg..." The sound made him swallow suddenly, mind drifting to a sudden alarm. Was someone hurt in here? He groped around.

His fingers felt what was definitely the wall, some paintings as indicated by their gilded frames and a few furniture pieces tucked to one side. Again, another shudder. Where was this feeling coming from?

"...Ahn-ahhnngg...M-Ma...!" more of the whimpering sounds and they were louder now.

Alfred should just have turned and left, but his confused mind somewhat urged him on to the mystery. Someone could seriously be hurt. What if it was the Lord himself? Where were the night servants? He gritted and growled lowly in frustration as his feet pressed on. Only to stop mid-stride, his mouth gaping.

There was no light but the dimness was unable to hide the definite sight of skin, of flesh, of sculpted muscles as his eyes saw the image he has not entirely forgotten. Alfred was just a short distance away from what he thought was a scene he would never see again.

It was hard to make up the short stack of stairs, the carpets and drapes around but Alfred definitely saw the Lone Seat, its gold and gemstones shimmering even in this Darkness. It was a centerpiece to the area, the Throne itself, but at the moment he had caught sight of it, it was being used for _something_ else.

Bound with ropes by his wrists to the back of the Lord's Chair was a man in all his nudity, pressed to a position where he somehow arched and bent, obviously panting and moaning, like those slaves they sent to the Islands then during those days in the caves. His luscious hair was loose and free as he tossed his head back in a scream, one leg slung to a stronger shoulder as the one whom the said shoulder belonged to worked on his body. Although the latter had his back partly turned to him, the act in majority concealed by what appeared to be a very lengthy cape, it was obvious what this being was doing to the bound one.

They were coupling.

Alfred did not know how long it had been happening, but the two had almost simultaneously stilled and spent, a climax indicated by a sudden rise to their obvious heat with more primal sounds before it ebbed into merciless panting. The servant panicked. He was not supposed to see this!

He aimed to run. Perhaps he will go unnoticed as the passion seemed to still be at its peak. However he should have guessed it was all too late. The Hooded Ones had come in through all the doors, bursting in as if a tide of scarlet and black, bearing their gifts and other boxes. They all paused as Alfred had paused seeing them. Caught red-handed in the Throne Room itself. Not even in the right state of dress.

Had he been attacked? He did not see it coming nor felt it until he was pinned down by several spears to the ground, the weapons making an effective brace around his neck with their blades too close for comfort, already making small scratches. The panic again rose.

"I swear I will not tell! Forgive me my Lord!" he pleaded, finally awake from the stupor of the earlier festival, the wine draining as the color on his face drained.

He pleaded for life. He pleaded for safety. He knew now that he should always keep his word, and stick to the rules no matter what the cost. He should not have harbored upon an interest.

He should have just forgotten it when there was still time...

* * *

Dull and unimportant.

He was known simply as a servant, the real name being Alfred but that was no longer an issue in the matter. Since he took the job here, he more or less appeared to have sworn to losing all manner of identification, but it bothered him not any more. He was happy. Somehow at least, he was.

"Take a napkin and polish the tea cup again. I see a water mark and I do not like it. The bath is a bit cold as well. Bring in more of the hot water and add in the perfumes.

"Hurry!" he clapped his hands before slipping on the black glove he had taken off earlier.

With a sense of precision, he urged the team he had been leading for a good part of the year to their duties, pointing this or that portion which he did not like only to have it immediately changed. Said to be the youngest to have ever achieved this post, he was more or less capable of purchasing his own village if he wanted with the wage he was earning from the Lord, but had decided he still wanted to keep this kind of work. Not bothered at all if he was in the opposition's staff which technically was being loathed upon by the entire Kingdom. It gave him purpose. Far from the useless miner's child back in the days of his youth.

"We're ready to open the curtains," said a black-clad maid as she finished dusting the long drapes, drawing the pull cord that sometimes served the Master as a tool to his lovemaking. Among other things that were kept present in the room for impromptu trysts and other pleasures. Of course he needed to understand every single one of them in the beginning.

"Make haste with the food. I'll take care of that Anita," Alfred ordered as he took the cord in his hand, beginning to heave aside the velvet as the maid simply bowed and left, her silent footsteps unheard, the rest of the other people in their team taking that as their sign to likewise exit and doing so with speed.

Like ghosts they had become but they were there when they were needed. Perfect qualities for most Black Gloves of the Night Service.

"Master Salem, it is time to get up. Lord Darkness requested your presence for the gala tonight. He said that the King might come to visit."

At times he stared out the window before he began his rounds, and wondered if those he had met then still remembered him now. Since becoming a part of night duties, he was alienated, forced to disappear without a trace or a goodbye to his friends. To Katia whom he now missed terribly and had finally admitted to having a deeper fondness for.

He wondered if they likewise pondered as he did, about the mysteries of the Palace and the differences. If they will ever know that the Black Gloves were mostly made up of servants who had the stronger will to discover what Darkness truly was. Alfred smiled. No matter if it was a foolish spur of the moment.

"Master Salem..." a light tap to his shoulder. He had now finished binding the curtains aside, opening the inside of the magnificent room to the pale color of the moon, if only for its simple waning light to kiss the loneliness. "We need to get you dressed."

The being there stirred, rolling slowly to lie on his back as he likewise unwrapped the sheets where his naked body had tangled. The Master bedded him often enough that clothes were not very necessary though they were enhancements to his charm. Especially his eyes. Bless the beauty of his eyes. Those amethysts bore into Alfred like the gems he found in the undergrounds. Only colder. More polished. Unafraid.

Gem eyes, they were called. Only two beings had them in the entire Kingdom, he was told, and they were brothers the Master of the Palace both lusted after.

"But he does not have need of me yet," said the Darkling with a groan, running his hands up his face then through his long mane, brushing it back as he sat up.

Alfred only smiled, handing him his cup of nightly tea, a robe ready and folded over one arm. It was just another day in the service.

...just another working day for this humble servant....


	3. The Flower and the Weather Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest Authors: Krisa and Vance.
> 
> The explosive chemistry of two Legends during one of their many spar roleplays. Meet the graceful yet deadly Iron Chrysanthemum and the elusive Weather Beast Vance Kial Simeon that had, alongside others, vowed to protect her.

They'd agreed to meet at Bein Beach, a part of the beautiful stretch of beaches common to the South of the Gateway, sometimes referred to as the "Beach of the Mists" due to the low-lying clouds abundant in the area during its many splendid mornings and certain times at night. Its shores are also littered with rocks and large boulders whose surfaces are drawn or etched with unknown formations lost to to the knowledge of the land but believed to be glyphs which when activated could be utilized to use the powers of.

The so-called 'Split' was first to arrive, storm eyes scouting about, the grey in them shifting in tone and colour. He was alone. For now. That was fine. He was not in any hurry to meet 'her' anyway. They had all the time in the world today...

He had immediately stripped off his coat, the shirt underneath that as well, kicking off his boots into the Transit. Stretching arms and crunching knuckles, flexing his body to loosen up muscles as his toes felt the damp of the sands, the waters not too far off. Mist swirling around him.

A show of lines and stripes appeared on his back. Tattoos that seemed to look like tendrils wrapping him from behind, the tips of the slash marks as talons gripping the sides of his ribs and the good form of muscles there. Where was she? It had been a long while since they had d a n c e d. Never yet on a formal battlefield as this was. He was beginning to get impatient.

Somehow the Weather Beast in him was excited. Must be how the King and Chalice felt. She was a doll with fangs. He expected nothing less. And today he had her all to himself...

She descended in a flurry of petals, random flowers growing perpetually in her long tresses, graceful hands tapping a Pearl strung upon a main strand of her locks as she dragged out from in it the pair of Golden Rajang swords, a seed germinating in her hair with it as she kept the small plant cushioned there like many others. She fluttered from her place towards her spot, sandalled feet and a smile on her lips. He had chosen a beach and good atmosphere. Cold and damp like a storm was about to come in and wrap the area in gloom. Well she was going to be here with him...

"Aloo Vancey," she waved happily at him from afar, a flutter of short skirts that made her look all the more vulnerable and worth taking care of.

But then her appearance was always a deceiving point.

As she dropped to a serious stance, slashing both swords out and flipping them into a tight grip, everyone should know she was never going to be an easy target. The glint of fire in her rose-coloured eyes spoke volumes about how experienced she was in matters pertaining to guerres and battle.

This should be lovely.

Here they go...

Dropping into a crouch, he let his feet burrow into the wetness of the sands, where from the makeshift platform gathered under the soles of his feet he had bounded forward, speeding, being part of the Feline Species of the Creature Classes, a natural runner. Gathering static in places and from the air all over that, a few of the smaller stripes on him had began to glow. Albeit dimly. That as he slashed one hand forward, the wind cleaved into two by his claws as the nails there sharpened out. Another sudden slash to break the two from below, splitting those further down.

He did a bullet through the halves and quarters, going ahead of them in fact, arriving with an aim to connect a right punch in first, then left, body spinning to dropkick, followed by talons that sank to earth. Walloping the same and leaping backwards in time to avoid his prior setup.

More static drawn in as he moved. A few more lines glowing as a result indicating a charge as, above, the mist was pooling in clouds. The gloom was on its way...

She kept her rose eyes trained on him, and when he began to move, her immediate instinct was to move a few steps backwards herself. Not fleeing though, just making space, gliding her swords together to gather the static as he was doing, feeling the distortion in the air as it split multiple times by his doing.

But then she knew him to pull a stunt and did one indeed as he went ahead of his own attack, reminding her of Chalice really, a fist seen flying that she spun from, darting the next to catch the kick by the flatside of her swords and glide it off, leaping up to rising with his next hit to avoid it, using the Weather Beast's own outstretched arm as a springboard to be tossed back from as he walloped off.

She landed in a slide on the sands, scattering them and petals and seeds, but not staying put as she zoomed easily back to aim a sweep of slashes after him, though seeing the initial winds coming her way, postponed that to scissor cut in, dragging the blades outwards to raise some wind-wrapped shields of her own. The few seconds allowed her to drift back, then fence her way through by making a point of one sword, spinning forward to drill through the blocks of wind as he had dived into their gaps to reach her before, chasing after the Weather Beast, sheathing her swords into dirt and throwing them up with a heave...

That was relatively easy, he was sure, storm eyes catching her pursuing, not at all afraid, still such a graceful Flower. Not to disappoint then. He let the clouds rumble and roll, the first few stripes on him glowing brightly this time which meant it was just about that moment.

The Weather Beast called lightning downwards, four streaks, one homing in on him as two swerved one after the other, crashing with the earth she had flung and then intending for her the next. The last falling a distance behind the Fighting Muse and coursing forward to trap her hopefully between. A hand caught the fourth. It was pushed into himself, Vance sliding on his heels and bracing down, inhaling deeply. Then blasting that lightning forward with a scream.

A larger throw than the rest. Engorged by his own reserves within as even more static gathered around, the storm brewing thicker above...

She didn't expect him to lightning her off this early. But what was lightning when she was more cautious of the storm above? Swords at the ready, she summoned the normal tendency of her Rajang Blades, pooling lightning in them by the Creature Class' own volition to merge with her male counterpart's.

The Muse stood her ground then as the earth she had sent broke and crumbled, letting the lightning streaks in. In a scatter of petals and flowers about, she thrust both blades inside, using them like rods to then swing the force around and slam it against the streak fallen behind her, hopefully offsetting that, twisting in time to see the Weather Beast blast the last strike towards her.

She flung herself directly into its path. Not suicidal. It's so she can stab the Rajang Blades forward into that blast as well, angling them from the sides diagonally so as to pierce the head of the beam with and then with a forceful flick outward, channel the lightning off of her and to the sides instead.

Some of the petals bristled into iron, but those were so she could use them to draw the rest of the electricity off. She swirled them around her, large blooms falling from her hair to carry the heat with them, the Muse spinning on a toe to catch these said flowers and one, two, three -whip them forward into lines. Small comets that caught fire, raining down from the sky.

She slipped back a bit more. Just some caution and again she had scratched the earth with her swords, metal seeds scattering around...

He had caught the fourth streak but instead of sending that into himself, he allowed it to consume him. Consume him until he had disappeared with the light.

The Weather Beast then emerged. Somewhere else other than where he was anticipated to be. Reaching from the streak that dropped behind her to carry the teleported lightning. He had drawn the fourth streak inside his own body immediately. Absorbing it that his stripes glowed a fierce colour. Belting it out towards her direction while his claws sank back into the one he had materialized from. Sinking his talons in it to split the force there and then clap lightning after the one he had screamed out. Electricity spun in pillars as the somber clouds became an angry darkness.

Still far from what he needed. Not yet with these. Not yet...

She had flung the approaching streaks backwards to meet the third, but this had perhaps only been absorbed by the Weather Beast as he emerged from that, blasting her with lightning from behind instead. With little time to react, she de-conjured her swords to free her hands and run fingers through her hair in a command to grow in profusion the Grape Ivy stored there, the smallish vines germinating into the iron similar to her namesake and creating a cushion before her. Something to catch the streak with, allowing it to throw her back so she could distance herself from the Weather Beast for now. Using something so fragile to vine whip the blast off as it was weakened eventually by the space between them, running forward again with the plant crawling down both arms and dragging earth as she ducked in the centre of his pillars, spinning on her toes to dome the Grape Ivy over her head and, in a dismantling move, forcing them outward, flinging the pillars out as well, with no idea where they had smashed into.

She leapt forward to meet him, spinning one vine whip over her head to crack it down as she dragged the other up from the side to hurl the nearest boulder at him, whipping the two vines outward in a hurry, withering them into a large mass in her hands and, in one air punch and another, send the leaves and stems, portions of the metallic plant, towards the male Trinity.

Before the blades conjured in her palms again and struck each other, creating that spark, lighting the two projectile masses into flames, making an effective wall of fire headed his way. Best prepare now since the sky did not look too good. She turned her swords back so the blades lay flat on her arms instead as two fingers from both hands combed through her hair, taking something out.

She needed to give him something extra special...

She had danced herself through his attacks. Had he thought she could not?

As lightning coursed its way about the heavens above, he called forth the thunder. With that carrying rain that began to drench the already damp sands in small patches then larger then wider over a range. He advanced towards her as the skies were making the harsh winds blow. The lightning pillars crashing to explode ground and boulders that he also had to curve and parry from.

He slid past the first crack of her whip but smashed a fist through the boulder sent with the next. Spreading the large portions of rock as he tucked himself in and covered against the outward motion of her whips. She had gathered them into herself now. He had to ready for this. And certainly enough, the massive metal portions of the plant rolled his way.

Fire. He would never forget that she was capable of that. He clawed at the air, gripping something from the atmosphere as he skid to a stop by a foot and in a sudden clap --BOOM!-- sent thunder to meet her wall of flames. The rain shifted with that. Lightning veined the skies again and this time aimlessly fell without him telling them to.

This prompted the Weather Beast to weave through as he also paced his way, like a bullet darting here and there. Where was she in the anarchy? He gathered the thunder, accumulating the sound in an anticipation to meet whatever she had in mind head on. Storm eyes looked up at the heavens. Almost there...

Lightning was falling in like crazy that the ground was going to be a bit hard to run onto. Using her Rajang swords, the Fighting Muse speared the blades over either side of her, using the Creature Class' innate ability to draw the electricity over and away from the ground she was stepping on before that actually became too inconvenient, spotting her Protector at a distance charging his thunder.

She tapped another pearl in her hair, and this glowed green, before the vessel faded to release two light emerald swords in her hands. The Garden Dragon's blades. She clasped them firmly as she slashed the sand before her with them left and right, sending inward cross slices, outward, then more left and right right hits, aiming them towards where she supposed the Weather Beast was, a series of largely leafed plants growing to wash over Vance.

She stabbed them into the earth, trunks breaking though the surface to rise in a slanted fashion and carrying or displacing anything along the path she'd made. The Fighting Muse was gunning closely behind this, sending strikes from below so that the trees became debris that flung the other Trinity's way. Fresh leaves, and stems and certain cuts from the vegetation...

He was aware that she had done this before. The Rajang after all had excellent command of its lightning faculties especially in a mode of rage that it could be used in so many ways especially since it was always in that said mode almost all the time. Good for the Muse. A challenge for him. Watching as the swords protected her and allowed a chance for her to switch Arsenals instead. Wise call.

The Emerald Blades of the Creature Class next materialized into her hold and he knew where she was aiming this. Immediately he released his pent-up thunder. To ensure safety, the Weather Beast clapped the sound down to the same places she was aiming her swords at, dismantling, hopefully, his opponent's attempt to send a forest his way. But he had to follow her movements else it would still be a hassle. He slashed with his arm a boom to meet the Flower's prior slices as they descended. All in one sweep that extended from the left to right, as he cleared them from hitting the sands and implant themselves there. Mimicking her movements by his as well so that he caught the cross-slashes into a boom before he broke into devouring his own skill and screaming it out towards her direction. That should drown the slashes as she had dragged them out.

Wasn't out clear yet just yet however.

It's difficult to be trapped where she had hurriedly sent in those mutilated plant parts. Vance had to make the exchange now. He let one larger lightning stripe drop and used that to distract the paths as he dived through the mass of fresh nature before they hit. Deciding to go through the lightning itself as it coursed again between them and through the centre of her last attack. The Weather Beast crossing his arms before his face to avoid any further damage.

He needed to reach her. He would not let anything get in the way of his goals though at the next seconds he was just riding a dying tower of electricity towards his quarry for now. Fist breaking into claws as the tattoos on his back glowed to redirect him from being electrocuted...

The lightning put a halt on her plans and she would not have that. Resummoning her Golden Blades, she flung the Garden Dragon's swords upwards, grabbing hold of both the Rajang's to sprint forward through the curve of electricity, spearing the blades aimed above and below the lightning strikes in an attempt to cut them off from the heavens and cancel it out. That before she had caught the Emerald Arsenal and slashed them together, causing the cuttings and plant parts to germinate into new trees, branching out to trap who or what was in their midst. They were compressing and restricting all around.

She pushed back a distance, like the blossom she is, drifting, marking the ground beneath her feet and dropping petals and seeds, all of which began to burrow and root while more flowers began to crown her locks...

Sacrifice. The Weather Beast decided the last minute to halt the storm all too suddenly that the immediate disperse of it caused a violent disturbance in the atmosphere. As if the world was vacuumed to a hush. The swords passed onto nothing. The Split tucked himself in to make them miss his head and feet. As instead the wet weather was condensed into something else: water. A most abundant of elements as he summoned squalls, erupting these unexpectedly from the skies to expand the compression of her plants and trees.

He burst out of the commotion, hurling the squalls after her as he skid sideways to mark the ground the same way then in a summon quickly invert the setting. As if darkness began to be light and light was darkness. The wet storm became really dry at his call. A contained desert resulted out of this said drying after the water squalls would eventually fade into the sea where they normally belonged to.

He moved his wrists around him and gestured with his hands. It looked like he was stirring the earth with his movements, a small circle of wind blowing and swirling only to raise the beginnings of a sandstorm all over. Storm from Below. With a hard slam of a foot, the surface was displaced, the lack of water making a blast of sand tide over him. And her as well in a sense, to cover the entire location...

The Fighting Muse knew what she was getting into. At least she did not have to worry about drying her clothes off after this. But sand -not something she liked getting onto her person but then she had expected as much.

De-conjuring all her swords, she fell on a hand and knee, dropping a summon to the seeds scattered earlier and growing from them a large Mangrove, roots bursting to dig deep and hard, her own hand grabbing branches while it sprouted to use similar to a slingshot and be whipped out of harm's way as the squalls rampaged through. She twisted past the watery towers before they could drown her in, turning a glance back at her tree, though she knew it should withstand that, like it does along the shorelines.

The Fighting Muse herself slid to the side so she could face the Weather Beast, turning to a stop on her feet, gliding a little. She stood straight and flipped her flowery hair back, a hand on a hip.

'Bring it', was the challenge in her rose eyes as she grew four more plants, but Elephant Trees this time, to weather the sands, doming them over her as she retreated behind and inside them. They did go well in a desert environment.

Elsewhere, the Mangrove had retreated into its seed state as the seas dissolved the Split's attacks. Nature at its peak...

He let it rise. These sands and its loose manifestation. Reaching higher and higher, the Weather Beast himself driving the assault with the gesture of his hands. Feet planted firmly to earth as he parted the dry tide and multiplied them.

She had hidden behind her natural walls. The defensive of her Everbloom had always been impressive. Something difficult to break through but there was a way. Commanding the sand storm, Vance raised and parted the pillars of his summon into smaller sections. Sharpening their ends and making them curve, creating spears that was hardened by the Threads connected to his soul. He forced them downwards. A throng of arrows and pointed weapons all sent towards the Fighting Muse. He did not stop there.

As these were landing, the Split was marking the earth with his bare feet, connecting arcs and circles together. Then with a step backwards and a leap, he had landed by his soles and upped a disruption from there. The earth exploded in spikes from deep under. Starting from that point he had chosen intending for his opponent. A trap above and below. Taking advantage of the influence of his Creature Class...

Well the Weather Beast would not be the only one who would take advantage of his Creature Class. None of the Men should ever forget who it was that maintained the Garden that in turn maintained them all.

Calling unto her own Creature then, the Fighting Muse uttered her summons and slammed her palms rather hard onto the trunks of the trees around her.

"Trigger: Bloom!"

What did that do again? A smile played on her lips as beneath her the ground shook. This was not only due to Vancey's incoming attack, but also to the fact that the roots of the trees were now overgrowing. The Elephants themselves were spreading out and expanding farther and farther in a circumference, more trees rising left and right, front and behind her, crowding her out of view. The Flower had now entirely vanished, into the womb and centre of this forest.

But no, it was not at all just a forest was it? This was something else: an oasis. Literally right smack at the very midst of the male Trinity's storms. Something that could hopefully withstand the whips of the sands and winds.

For good measure, she added an element into the mix, with a graceful swipe of her fingers upon those trunks, making sure to tap all about the vegetation that covered her.

Everything hardened and sharpened. Everything became metallic as the sands crashed down and around.

An iron oasis had emerged, safely protecting the lone Fighting Muse in its core, one who had just tapped her pearls yet again, a pair of blades conjuring in her hands...

When she defends herself, she defends herself well. The Weather Beast had to come up with a new approach real fast and decided to make it dive. The sands in his call all made to sink into the ground suddenly instead of making a direct hit. Sent deeper into the earth to burrow and then bounce upwards. Fast and thundering through like an earthquake. The aim was simple: to uproot the whole iron oasis if it would be possible.

With a gesture splitting the sands below and making them spin. Like drills that bore tunnels, the aim was to bore through the oasis itself. Just in case, he grasped at the sounds from both sides of him and compressed that. Here was one more sonic boom as he swallowed the concentration whole and breathed.

In case he was able to crack that fortification, he'd release the blast. The target would be his opponent that was in the middle of that stronghold. If not to break the defense entirely, to ruffle the pretty Flower's hair at least...

The earth was shaking, the ground beating with a thunder she had definitely heard before. Had she not battled many times by their side to realize what these were? The Muse gathered herself. The oasis was in peril but then not really. She had a plan.

"Trigger: ..." a hanging prep and the trees seemed to bristle and thorn. And then even before his sands could touch her formidable fortress of nature from neath the surface, she released it,"...Uproot!"

The entire oasis warped and swirled around her, a hazardous and quite jagged twister of tree parts that had shredded itself ~leaves, branches, bark, roots and all~ becoming small portions that cut through the air, and would have cut through her except she had dived into the center of it and bulleted with the Uproot towards Vancey, spinning to make her own momentum and force the projectiles to spread out. The sands had nothing to target. They also left their summoner open for her.

But damned that pesky thunder. What to do? What to do? She has not done it yet has she?

The massive collective of her iron oasis would fall to meet whatever he dished her way, but she herself would fall short behind it. The Muse had thrust her hand forward and zoomed. By the point of a Sable Blade she had earlier readied, having created a pin-prick with its tip and vanishing into it...

There was nothing he could do about that Uproot supposedly. The move more or less just threw his burrowing sandstorms out of tangent. The Weather Beast was not one to have less preparation however...

He held the thunder in, biting down, slamming a foot to earth that displaced the sands below. They burst earlier than the intended target. Rising through to make jagged the surface paces before where he was. His aim now was to catch the tornado. Or have that meet a wall of sand to lessen the momentum of it. To help his defense, Vance stepped back and breathed. Before blasting out the thunder full force to shove the sands at the Fighting Muse's attack, leaving him breathless, but there was no time to spare.

He doubled a retreat, back-flipping through as each time he touched the surface, sandy columns would rise in his wake. Then he sent the summon to his skill above. The Storm Below slowed towards silence as the Storm Above paused previous restarted. Doubling in haste in its intensity as the winds howled and the lightning fell once more. Rain poured, mixing with the sands, making mud. Caution. Things will be getting slippery.

Now all he needed to wait for was the Fighting Muse. The marks all over his back glowed fiercely. Claws at the ready. His bare feet feeling for anything that may touch the ground around him. Hair a mess with storm eyes reflecting the weather rages all over him...

She actually zinged upwards, appearing conveniently above the Weather Beast to make a massive slash going downwards with the Garden Dragon Blade, that being wide enough to cover her form like a shield before she split it in half with a horizontal slice of the same make, conjuring the other twin of the sword to cross-slash that, making diagonal marks in the shape of an X. Then in a whirl, she split the snowflake with two circles, one larger than the other blooming outward, making halves of the halves and halving even that. To finish, she let herself bullet forward in a fall, a sword thrust fiercely onward to break at the point of it all and send the multitude of slashes like an arrow aimed directly at Vance, herself riding its trails before she had decided to fall backwards in a blast and land a distance off. She needed to bridge the gap.

She launched forward, spinning through the rain and, throwing out silks to both sides where she left the first pair of swords to the mercy of, the folds clasping the blades by their handles and she was likewise clasping fingers together to volley down seeds that evolved to seedlings then to small shrubs and then massive trees that she was directing towards the Split. One, two, three, four--tall things sprouting root systems and much green on the surface. Only to attack at close-range after the distraction, pearls alight to spear out her golden blades that she had caught with her two hands, thrusting in once, slicing down, slashing up, thrusting out, spinning so the folds spun in and cut at least twice each, reversing on a heel and having them spin the same way out, only so she could flick them back and she could scissor her way inside, wrists adjusting so the slash outward was a horizontal, stepping back so the folds could scorpion tail the blades in. She darted them back in reverse, slicing upward only so she could clap the golden swords together from above and below, legs bracing herself as a sudden explosion of lightning burst from the collision. Which she conveniently dragged outward, the lightning splitting into two streaks coursing towards the Split as she threw the swords back to be caught by two more Silk Folds, the Emerald ones of the Garden Dragon flung into her grasp this time and she sank them to the wet earth.

She doubt that would kill him so she had made all preparations: "Grow!" and there was a rumble as she whipped them out and left a hanging summon, "Trigger..." this would be the decisive moment...

Here she came falling.

The Protector summoned into earth. At the tip of her arrow of slashes he raised some manner of rocky cover over his head and flung that away, redirecting the hit to a rock nearby that broke upon impact. Twenty four more at least headed his way which he leaped four out of, slashes missing his body by a hair. Raising another pillar to snake over himself and dislodge the aim of the next four. Diving backwards to flip over the next set. Slamming hands to the ground to throw muddy walls up, arms arching out to fling another four off, then the next. Launching forward from the last of the Higanbana Petals landing to close the distance between them. Same way that she was doing. He was meeting her halfway.

But watching out for trees. He parried the evolving flora, ducking through the first, flipping out of the second. Letting the third hit before him to use its growth as leverage to skip over the fourth, claws out as he reached his aim. The rain was becoming bothersome even for him. Thick and chilling.

But storm eyes could see clearly as she had thrust in. He met that with talons, letting the blade drag over. Water helping to let them slip. Throwing the slash upwards suddenly as she was making the movement to clash with her other slice down, allowing her own to stop the hit. Sliding back against mud as she pulled back herself. Yet this was far from over. This graceful Flower does not know the meaning of stopping.

The Split gathered his thunder and ballooned it, letting that catch her succeeding attempts, weaving a sandy spiral around himself to collapse the reverse. The tips of the blades gliding just before him that he cussed out. She was scissoring in. Lightning clawed upwards met that, another in case she followed it up. In which she definitely did, the slashes out slamming him with equal force. Something above. He used the water this time, gathering the rain to burst, aimed to stray her scorpion folds. Aimed to stray her. Seeing the Fighting Muse dart backwards and clapping the swords to smack him with lightning.

The Protector let it.

But he had drawn it inside as if it were his own and right when the marks on his back glowed full of it, blasted it back towards the source. The heavens responding in kind. Heavy with the electricity that at the beat the entire sky fell into a lightning storm coursing the ground and electrifying everything its streaks could touch. Destroying the paths they took as he drove them forward...

The mass effect was rolling in. Based on previous experience, this was the sort of lightning that could easily erode through a location with its electricity, coursing over it like a wave. This one in particular was HUGE like most of its counterpart effects, and there was an equal chance it would also snag her along with it...if she would let it.

"Trigger:..."

Okay, match the wavelength or break through it. The former option was easily doable as the Fighting Muse banked upon the Rajang Blades, the flowers changing in her hair and taking on the blooms of a certain fruit whose seeds she had saved from All Hallows eve, an indicator that she was ready to plant.

The storm was coming.

There was a small window she could achieve this, and, timing it to the cluster sent her way by her own Protector, "...Pulse!" she let the swords explode into electric currents themselves, this meshing with the deadly setting to let it lapse over her just safely enough to allow her to drop those seeds and, with her Emerald Blades whipped back into her hands, bloom up the vines.

She deconjured the Garden Dragon briefly, wrapping her arms and Silken Folds around herself to let the said vines engulf her in a cocoon, the usual reaction of her plants to protect her.

The vines burrowed. Following her Garden Dragon's instincts, they went under with their cargo, breaking earth just under the line drawn by her own lightning blade, resurfacing where the lightning had passed to continue its rapid growth and suddenly release the Iron Flower, the plant becoming a small patch where small to large pumpkin fruits had sprouted, Emerald Blades materializing in the same instant as she danced in her garden, slashing from the left then right, cutting a circle outwards to cross slash then cut up, severing the pumpkins from their connection to the Mother Plant and round-housing some to hit others and make this billiard ball effect, the fruits rolling towards Vance's direction.

"Trick or Treat!"

More surprises than the Halloween Boxes. The pumpkins deteriorated and bloated out, exploding in more than one place...

And here he thought the season was already over.

The Lightning Mass had done their part but she had survived it like she always did others. A very stubborn Flower, this. Sprouting from natural adversity to bloom and grow. Too much perhaps as his storm eyes saw the many sized pumpkins rolling his way. Maturing much faster than they normally did. Deteriorating all the same and exploding. Gas. When things die, they become gaseous inside and she could ignite them. As she did now. Not good.

The Weather Beast was not going to chance it. With a different set of markings glowing on his back, he canceled out the dying storms on the field to make way for a new one which could blend the hot and the cold he had been pooling since they started. The wind started to blow really hard from the Northern side of the area. He was calling forth...a wind storm.

He weaved through large and small fruits as they exploded around him. Feet dragging upon the earth in swipes and slides as he darted left to right, right to left, crouching low in a familiar set of movements. The Ginga making the air swirl around him. Bundling and building around his arms and legs.

Then feeling that he had reached the centre of all this ripe orange to dead exploding destruction, he did a large sweep forward. Bringing the air to a solid wall. Dragging that back when he felt the defense was enough as he spun over, kicking off. Landing to a handstand, twisting hips. He did a split and spun himself. Grasping the storm and winding it around his form only to then release it in a burst.

The tornado was not as large as it should be. But it was enough. Its circumference grew from his point to expand outwards to hopefully blow everything away from him and back as he fell to his feet into a Paralelo, anticipating any further surprises...

That was rather effective, based on her calculations at least, as she watched the pumpkin fruits roll and tumble, exploding as they went. But then the Protector set himself on a counter she had thought he would take, anticipated, the storms drowning into nothing above and below them, with the winds blowing in rather unsteady by the minute. She was rather enjoying the rain, but then this means it was a different storm coming in because right on the dot, Vance was gathering air, twisting the element around himself in a dance.

Rather graceful, appearing like that, but then she should not be enthralled. She shook her head and deconjured the blades to hurriedly sweep her own palms around the pumpkin patch, overgrowing the leaves and tendrils, everything that was the plant. Soon enough the fruits were blown back right at her, large and small with circle of strong gusts proceeding them.

She should not stay in one place.

As the pumpkins exploded, the Fighting Muse hardened the patch and wound it upwards, the plant becoming a metal tower, and, since it would be dangerous to stay within that cocoon, she slammed a foot down and from the centre of the sealing patch grew a large stalk of Taraxacum, letting the vines wrap around it so it stayed steady at least for a few second before she exploded the florets and grabbed onto one of the largest, drifting off to safety above as the plants were demolished by the blasts below her.

She was glad to have kept a few weed seeds, chuckling to wave at the Weather Beast as she fluttered with the seed heads in the air.

This was fun. But their spar was at its end...

She had dropped off of her perch. Vance with a smirk saw her coming and blasted in with a slide to catch her in his arms, the flounce of her dress bunching to help cushion her fall. He immediately chuckled, "Hello there, beautiful Muse. Where have you been?"

She smiled up at him rather pleasantly, arms flung out to embrace around his neck once she was comfortable. "Around," she shared a most adorable giggle, the flowers in her hair growing in profusion once again, the petals beginning to tumble after his storm.

"Carry me home~?"

A princess. She was gently spoilt by everyone who loved her. Him included. This was a request he easily indulged. But then the aftermath, the destruction that appeared around them now as he held her quietly in that state. This was a fair reminder that they too were so equally matched.

What did she even needed his protection for, he wondered sometimes.

"All right. But make me tea."

"Surely Vancey," she smiled again and widely, before leaning up to kiss his cheek, tucking herself in to begin the journey back. "I had fun today."


	4. The Bond Between Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest Authors: Shion, Salem and Chalice.
> 
> The history of the worlds before it was rewritten. A cruel Captain and his ambitions. The Darkness that was borne of it. And the two brothers torn by its savagery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are Slices from the "Whose Memories" Roleplay, a memory between brothers Chalice Roan and Salem Averque. The point-of-view of these accounts shift from one person to the other.

**// Chalice //**

Snow.

Our town was a town in the mountains and for ages it has not seen anything else, although past the white that seemed to beam so bright under the sunlight there were many places of green, on account of the soaring pines and winter willows that scattered the landscape. They, to me, kept the place warm to a degree, their presence a sign of life. A sign of something beyond the dreary cold that surrounded us all our lives. Nothing but snow. Ruthless home.

I was sixteen then. Not barely old enough. But I was one of those dreamers who thought it would be a blessing to leave, or at least see more of our ancient town such that none has seen before. I was one of those who looked at the Lord's castle ahead and wondered what it was like to join them in arms. I heard they were taught magic there. It sounded adventurous. My heart raced after it in fact. I wish. . .I wished. . .

"Can I stay here for a few minutes more?"

That day was one of those days I could not forget. There had been a heavy storm the previous night that had only died down the very morning of that day, causing layers of glaciers to form down the coasts, the aloof mountain ranges forever clothe in that white while the town itself was almost trapped in cold. Almost because the men had then started digging tunnels through, the servants in the castle pushing the results of the weather off their roofs and life continued as it always did. Normal and without complications. Except for myself. I was not satisfied with this. Trudging up a path that overlooked the lake then. I sat there watching the world with dreams again, tucking myself in with the passion of my own ideals. I wanted to leave Ferendrake. I was getting impatient. I wanted the chance my brother was going to have this year; sadly I was but a few months short and needed to be patient. A quality I did not have I admit yet I demanded it from others in relation to me. I was young after all. I expected to be cared for. Especially by my older sibling. My only sibling. He had no qualms with it anyway. Him who only asked that I did not stay out too long when I did stray with my contemplations as they had that day.

"I won't be long. I promise Salem."

I told him this all the time. I would only bank at a smile and to look at him and he'd let me be as long as I needed or thought that I needed. On some instances he'd join me as he had done that morning. As I plopped on my back against the fresh blanket of downy white while the sunlight streamed through with more of the snowflakes. I seemed to have dozed off, waking up to the view of his eyes looking. His amethyst pair of gem eyes.

He told me mine looked better. They were darker than his, sharper. But to me his looked the more knowledgeable, glass treasures that held further understanding. He knew didn't he? He knew what I always felt. He knew how I wanted to get away. If not for those silent hues of his that always assured me there was time always for everything. All I needed to do was wait.

* * *

**// Salem //**

What I recall that day were bells. The sound of a church organ as we went to mass at a small chapel which after the storm had become a heap of white, the priests for the sake of the faithful procrastinating until after the mass, that frown obvious on our guardian's face as even through the hymnals she seemed to hurry. Why wouldn't she be when my brother, holy his name be coincidentally, was not even in attendance. That made me chuckle. He was a natural troublemaker I suppose. Entirely my fault. I was a year older but when it came to disciplining him I was rather a disappointment.

The snow was thicker when we had marched out, our guardian immediately telling me she would go on ahead of us and that I should hurry and fetch my vagabond sibling. Gods know where he might be, lost in the forest where wolves are. But I recall how I always manage to find him if ever he strayed. After all, there was only one place he would go when he needed time to himself.

As he needed it then. That day was the last day I would be home. I was to study potions in the castle and become a Beserker. A queerness how our world had now taken a liking to magick so it may also do as other Realms did: conquer the worlds smaller than their own.

But I was not dwelling on that. Neither on the fact that I was going to be away for a while and might not see them again until I could come back, hopefully not dying in my first few years.

With his scarf wrapped around my neck I hurried, past the hills and steep slopes where we always tumbled or sled. We were not that affluent a family. We didn't have sleighs or stags to pull them. It did not stop us however from enjoying our lives. There was more to it than treasures or gold after all.

After a few begrudging climbs through the crags and crannies of our particular hiding spot, I found him as I always did there, thinking, noticing me ahead than I would myself at times and beginning his requests. He wanted to stay here.

"You're not even going to help me pack?" I asked in return as he fell back into the snow, his gem eyes closing to let me know he had slept. Amidst the cold and silence he was silently dreaming as if the snow was here as a comfort.

In a sense it was. I also adore the snow. Enough that I could not help but sit then lay down beside him, my eyes wandering his face.

If Chalice was afraid of stagnating here, there was one thing I feared most of all in my absence. That one fear I prophecy would be with me until the end of my life.

I reached a hand to trace my brother's cheek, my expression unknown maybe until he had opened his own eyes once more, staring at me with a curiosity. I smiled. I'm happy that I was still reflected in them.

"When I leave, don't forget me."

* * *

**// Captain Shion Claudius //**

There was a buzz that day in the Legion Hall, the sound of songs and rejoicing. Another successful battle won and more to come. Celebrated by my Forty Strong as I plan for our next conquests.

In the back room I met some of my most trusted, gathering them for advice and to aid in judgement. I had not been the King then but the Captain. A conqueror who led my might forward without remorse. A young adventurer with an ambition to create a myth within my own comrades and subjects. All while protecting a legacy we'd all create.

I remember the faces of those with me there that day. They were the first to greet my return, yet fresh from the hunt they were likewise the first to come to and strategize, the first to recommend our next move. The first to put a goblet in my hand and offer me a drink of wine I had no taste for then. As they flocked like a pack of wolves, themselves very harsh beings, hardened by trials and years of war. I could safely slump on the cushion of my seat, against the soft contrast of furs that layered even to my feet.

To my right was Les, one of my dashing adjutants, that scar marked upon his shoulder always the remembrance that he would gladly lay his life on the line for me, having caught many dangers and swords in my name. That moment he was sharpening one of his two blades, a combatant of the dual arts. He had been teaching our Fighting Muses. Surprisingly he had all but found a match in them. One of our Metal Flowers. Les had been boasting how she might succeed him one day and teach students of her own.

To my left was the Priest, Rochis. My cousin. My living conscience. He was my other adjutant with all the necessary advise, as fierce and as true as his skills on the fields of battle. I sought his counsel often and yes they have never failed me yet. He always knew what to say, if not he always made certain to get his point across with the Ferula he had in hand and a request for spar. A Saint and Holy and never my weakness. On the contrary, he was the mirror of my own strength.

"Ferendrake. It's a small kingdom. Hardly a hundred men but promising."

How can I forget Vanae? Of all those in my presence that day she was the one who convinced me of our proceeding quarry. A high mage of certain capabilities. A headstrong lady in my fold. She was pacing the room in her black and lace, a severe woman with an accurate heart that collapses power to make it her own.

"Then you suggest it?" I had asked her. Immediately she nodded, tucking a Grimoire under her arm, " By all means Captain."

Roc had been quietly listening, leaned against one of the posts and meditating but he affirmed. "They have troops but we can head for their Lord first and work downward from there. Should be an easy task. Send Vanae, Lestat and myself. We can handle them."

Lestat: "You don't sound like a clergy for the faithful Priest. What happened to fighting for the oppressed?"

"I do not follow the path of their gods. I follow that of our own. If it helps to get us more captives to convert, I would not hesitate."

"You will make mad out of them."

Vanae cast me that glance and I returned it with a glare. "We should leave. Just us three. The Captain need not dirty his hands for something this trivial," she remarked to quell the argument before it could start. To which I only laughed and poured the contents of the goblet to the floor. The taste of wine or any other liquor, to me, was repulsive. Better it be a pool on the floor. Maybe in the same way that was my own take on the world then. I had looked out the window to ponder. So much snow. I straightened in my seat.

"Trinity. Heel," and they all stood to fall on a knee, weapons lain before me, heads bowed.

"Yes my Lord!" It was a retort that would echo in my memory for all time. My rules were theirs to carry out. My orders becoming the instant absolute.

"I want that Kingdom. Leave no man standing unless they are potentials.

"Kill the rest."

* * *

**// Chalice //**

It happened six days after Salem left to learn at the Lord's castle. At first it was not that obvious, this feeling of being 'watched', just catching glimpses of who or whatever it was that seemed to be spying on me, no actually, more of stalking me. It would be there in the corners, this feeling, ominous and foreboding. Just snips and flashes at first, just enough presence to make me turn and wonder, but in the suceeding days, it got worse. Until that one day happened. That one day I found out that I wasn't really safe in Ferendrake. . .

I was alone, in the woodlands nearby. The snow had just fallen. There was that sense of cold that seeped to the bone and I shivered deeply, hugging my coat close by its collar. My breath was thick, puffing like smoke and I had found myself clouded by it for a while. Clouded by. . .something else.

I don't know if I was imagining things but I felt someone's hands on me. A malevolent force that laughed at the back of my head, and for a few minutes I had forgotten myself. I could not move my body. I just stood there, stunned, terrified as I heard those words, 'So beautiful. . And soon. . .m i n e.'

I screamed. I found myself stumbling on my hands and knees over the wet snow and I shuddered, struggling to my feet only to curl against a corner. I had never felt something so evil.

I do not recall what had happened next, but our guardian had said some of the hunters had found me feverish by the roadside, shoes dirtied as if I had been running for a very long time. I had been sick for days, and our old nurse could not leave my side. I was murmuring and talking in my unconsciousness. I was delirious.

When the fever broke finally, the first thing I did was write. Write about everything I had encountered. Then, hesitatingly enough, sealed it all in a letter and sent it to Salem however doubtful that he would respond. He had not returned any of my letters.

* * *

**// Salem //**

I was counting around sixteen days since leaving home. Life in the academy was slow or was it that I was merely missing my old way of living? Getting used to the new schedules set was difficult. Not to mention the lack of news from my brother. Not one letter. But would that have mattered? On my eighteenth day in the Academy, as the Winter storm blew in over from the Northern mountains I saw the skies turn red. A fierce battle had broken beyond the East we were told and classes had stopped indefinitely. Most of our seniors had gone on to battle and a few of the other students my age as well. They had faced monsters. The entire Kingdom was gripped in fear.

I sat on the edge of my bed that day, looking at the potion in my hand. This was one of Ferendrake's strongest brews. The Beserker's Bottle. Powerful yet deadly all the same. If I could take it to battle I would be able to help in the frontlines. We were losing. The Kingdom was going to fall.

I had pondered hard on that decision that time. The potion would convert me into something else once I took it. Was it worth it?

"Whatever you're thinking you better not be doing." Those words snapped me awake. Who was it that I had spoken to? A senior whose name I now scarce recalled. But I remembered his kindness.

"Don't you need aid against the enemy?"

"We'll be overrun. We expect the Kingdom to be gone in three days' time. Will you spend it fighting a losing cause?" His hand took the potion and replaced it with a single letter, one I had already ceased to expect to receive while I was here. "We have been told to destroy all letters from home. But I knew how important your brother is to you. As my estranged sibling had been to me.

"Go home Salem. He needs you."

* * *

**// Chalice //**

The town had been destroyed. Anarchy was afoot. But beyond the destruction I had found myself running, running from an unseen force. It was after me, had finally made itself known in those wee hours when death was raining from the sky, beams of light collapsing civilization as we all had known it, scattering those we knew and loved.

I had lost our guardian. She had been a warmonger in her days and she gave her life for me, not against the enemy that had been destroying Ferendrake, but against that force that had been haunting me. She had known! And for a very long time she had battled it. But alas, she'd failed.

Now I was alone. I was running scared through the rocky forests, slipping many times and tumbling over the damp surface yet pushing on. It was going to consume me. This. . .darkness was going to descend and I will be powerless to stop it. Would I be a spoil of war? During its chase I had thought it that.

"Salem! Salem!!"

I had desperately called for him but where was he? Had he died in the doom that had wrapped the Kingdom? Salem. Where was my brother? If he had died, I figured that I might as well be joining him soon. As my eyes cast a glance back to see this howling entity's progress, relentlessly. In pursuit of its prey that was me.

I had no more time. I was losing daylight and with it I was losing hope.

* * *

**// Salem //**

The Academy was in ruin when I left. The students had began taking the brews and transforming into monsters, mind becoming no more than savages that attacked our invaders and everyone else in sight. Briefly I had contemplated what had happened to my Senior, but then it was easy to tell that they were already gone. The Academy was razed to the ground as I took on hooves and cast it not a glance back. I was scared, but I had no time.

I ran the horse until it was exhausted, leaving the beast to next sprint the rest of the way home, clutching my brother's precious letter in a hand, very much close to my heart as I made my journey through with uncertainty. The war has not reached here yet. Did I still have time?

Why had they been doing this? In an attempt to make us focus on studies they tore us forcefully away from the ones we loved? To what ends? I had by that time believed the Academy for its evils. I had not heard from my brother. I thought he had forgotten me. How stupid. It was never Chalice's fault. It was the rotten curriculum that enslaved us all. I would have to apologize. I would have.. .

"Chalice?"

I spotted his tired figure at a distance, that look of strife upon his face. Far off and gaining was this darkness that I had only recently found out about.

_'Salem something has been following me'_

_'Brother it has visited me again'_

_'Please come home.. .I'm so afraid. ..'_

I never should have left.

"Chalice.. ."

I never should have left without him.

"CHALICE!!"

That darkness was about to swallow him whole and I could not let it. I needed to make it to him in time! I owe him that. I owe him an explanation! I did not want him to think that I had abandoned him as our parents did. I would always be here.. .

* * *

**// Captain Shion Claudius //**

The Legionnaires had ran the course of Ferendrake about four days, destroying majority of the Kingdom from the hierarchy down, at the last day my Priest, Dual Sword and Mage splitting to round up the few survivors left in their revolt. The few escapees and prisoners we were taking back to Realmshold for conversion or execution. Whichever came first. By that time Rochis was headed East, fighting through the heavy snow when he spotted these two boys. One pursued by a darkness that he had been familiar with, piquing his interest that he had to investigate and confirm.

Earlier they had reported of certain anomalies during the war. Of a force quietly urging the men of this Kingdom to throw themselves into certain death, my Legionnaires not merciful enough to give thus there had been mounting casualties. Now he knew why.

_'A Dark Bosser? Here?'_

There was little time to react. He was not even able to pull out his Ferula strapped onto his back. He immediately dived, arms bonding the darkness' target to himself as the other boy pushed him away from this reaching evil. But they held on to each other. Even as the savior was latched unto by that cruel force, engulfing him into the shadows that he could only manage to reach his arm out, the rest of him already sunken into the pitchblack.

They were brothers. For no bond was stronger enough to have oneself sacrifice your own to save another, and for the other to refuse letting go.

"S-Salem!"

Rochis had not the time to cast a Specific. The force was strong that it was taking all his might as well to keep the one in his hold grounded. And it proving to be insufficient. The darkness was dragging them all in.

"Child let go! He will drag you into the shadows with him! Let him go!!"

* * *

**// Chalice //**

I remember that day very well. It had burned itself into my thoughts. The day when the snow was heavy, cruel as the war that had wrapped our Kingdom, the weather plainly terrible. I felt bitter. I felt angry at myself. I felt all manner of emotions and it was overwhelming. It hurt.

Someone had come to my aid. Someone had sped to grab me in his arms as that shadow would have swallowed me whole. 'Let go child' he was then telling me with an urgency but how could I? How could I when Salem had also arrived. And it was actually him who had shoved me away that very moment when I was about to be lost. Why? Why save me?

"No. . ." I had held on to his wrist as tightly as I could, realizing that it was perfectly possible for me to lose him. "No. . ." Tears flooded down the sides of my cheeks. I was refusing to let him go. I said the word over and over as if the mere denial of the inevitable could stop it. But I knew. In a sense we all knew. We were meant to part that day and nothing could have stopped it in any way. All I had was this hope. A hope that this would not be, yet, even that was dying in me.

"Don't leave me. . .Salem please. . ." The words of misery. My misery. Anguish in those years when we had both built on something. Our dreams. Our ideals. Our memories. They had been threatened. They were about to be torn from us.

It was desperate. I felt desperate. I was desperate! I wanted to save him as he had saved me. It was unfair! Had he not made me a promise?

"Salem please!"

But. . .that was as far as we would go. I cursed myself that I was not strong enough. Gods know we never wanted it.

* * *

**// Salem //**

It felt as if I had flown. I did not actually give it a second thought but when I saw him about to be devoured by that darkness all I could think of was that I had to save him. And I did didn't I? I pushed him out of the way with all the strength left in me that the next I knew was that it had descended upon me instead. This monster had latched its teeth on me instead. Almost swallowing me except that Chalice. . .had held on.

He gripped at my wrist as he was being held back by a stranger. A stranger who was likewise giving all he's got to keep my brother out of harm's way with a light. That light. He had the light in his fierce emerald eyes and he stared at me with a kindness, a sadness, this urgency as he likewise struggled with all his might.

He was telling me to decide. Not verbally but his expression was telling me the intention. We were going to lose everything. If I let Chalice hang on, we would all be devoured. Something warm streamed down my cheeks then. My own tears. I had understood it completely. Fate intended it this way no matter how wretched or ruined the outcome.. .

"Do as he says Chalice. Let go," I held back my own sorrow as I looked at my brother's crying face for the last time. Those eyes. I always admired his eyes and that day might as well be the end of me ever seeing it. Or seeing the daylight, but I was certain. I wanted to protect him. "Let go Chalice. It's all right."

I could feel myself falling. This abyss surrounding me was powerful. It was not intent of letting whatever it had clung to go. I felt cold. As if I had been buried in ice. I felt likewise desperate. Desperate to save the only person left to me from whatever terror I was going to meet on the other side.

"No.. .no.. ." but so hardheaded. For once I wanted him to listen. To listen as I pleaded with him and.. .in a sense.. .said my goodbyes as the pull of that dark only heightened, straining me into the mire quicker. It hurt to struggle. I felt drained. I felt an endless pain seeping into my very marrow.

"Listen Chalice. Listen.. ." I managed to reach my fingertips, skimming over his tears as I sought to comfort him a last time even if I was beginning to suffer. "Listen. Shhh.. .it's all right. It's all right. I will find you. I will always take care of you."

Was the sorrow in my smile evident? Please gods of Ferendrake, let him remember me in a happy light I prayed!

"I will never leave you.. ." I cannot stand him hurting. I had seen him hurt for years but that was all in account of me. Our parents, did he know? They had died because of me. Perhaps I had thought that when I was gone, he would be in better hands than I. That moment made certain by the presence of this stranger who only nodded at my choice.

"Go with him. He's a good man. And whatever happens.. ." The difficult thing next to do was to have him let me go. I twisted my wrist in his grip, hastening to tell him the last of my wishes. ".. .whatever happens.. .

"Do not forget me."

I wretched myself loose, pushing Chalice away for the last time as his brother. After that incident I would be severely robbed of who I was enough that when we met again I was no longer who I had been. Yet who would have known as I sank into that darkness that that would be the start of many instances when I would use all my cunning to make him loathe me for what I had become? Of me continuing as I had done that day to push him away. All my life. That way I could protect him.

I did promise.

* * *

**// Chalice //**

That day time stopped. I had looked at him and wished the seconds could have dragged on for all eternity so I would not have lost him. But I did. I had from that day onwards lost the only inkling I had to any past I had.

'Go with him. He's a good man. . .' I had been shaking my head in fierce disagreement, but my grip was slipping. No. Salem was giving it up. He was giving himself up to a fate no one was certain about. For me.

The next thing I knew was that I saw him fade into the darkness and had to the top of my lungs screamed his name, reaching out, calling, struggling as this stranger was pulling me away. "SALEM! NO! SALEM!!"

Had it been minutes? Hours? How long had I fought? I had simply collapsed. Or was it that I had been forced into unconsciousness with a hard blow to the nape. When I woke up I was already in a room, the cold bed offering no solace to my broken heart.

I had crept off the sheets, sank the corner which had from that time become my sanctuary, in my mind wondering always if Salem too had found himself in such a place, thinking of me as I had begun to think of him.

I wished for snow. Better the bitter cold than this warmth without family.

In utter grief and in utter disbelief I lamented, these tears beginning to fall again. Salem had disappeared. He had been taken away. I could only hug my knees, bury my head there, and mourn. Yes mourn for us both.

"What is your name?"

That man who saved me was persistent and maybe I did owe him that. He rescued me. I bore him no ill feelings except maybe this disappointment that he had not saved Salem as well. He could have maybe. I do not truly know but he was stronger than I was, I felt it. He could have done something! Anything!

In helpless shock I swallowed, sobbing as I gave him my name, "Averque. Chalice Roan. . .where. . .where is my brother?" I could not stop it. I had broken down too many times today. I had been disturbed in dreams. And inside I was empty. I just miss him terribly, missed him like I have never missed him before.

* * *

**// Captain Shion Claudius //**

The venture had been a success. The Kingdom had been destroyed and my men had returned with news and quarry, Rochis however returning with something far more. A potential. At least that was what he told Les and Vanaela. What he had told all the other Legionnaires.

I had to see it for myself, visiting his chambers late that night, only to see him speaking with a youth not barely legal in age, trembling miserably on the floor. This was not due to the cold. It was far from that. It felt raw. It was mortal sorrow.

"What is this Priest?" I had asked in my entrance as he had only stood and bowed.

"A Dark Bosser. It was in Ferendrake," Rochis' straightforward answer didn't come off as a surprise. What did however was him stating this rather blankly.

"But we have not sent Dark Bossers to that Kingdom. All of them are accounted for in the Continent of Throne, non?"

My cousin looked at me dead in the eyes with a frown. "Except one. Have you forgotten Shion? Him."

Him. One of our renegade Dark Bossers who chose to wander from our control. He had been missing the last we had news. Left from his mission in a Kingdom called Callara to hunt for power elsewhere. Things had just taken a peculiar turn. Interesting.

"He must have been lurking behind our trails. I have always felt him but he has not shown his true face."

"But what would he want from a region as small as Ferendrake?" I asked the Priest and he gestured at the boy. I made a close inspection and my brows rose in definite understanding. Tear filled but beautiful all the same. Gem eyes. The shade of very deep royal purple.

"I thought they have all been-" Rochis gestured for silence and I went hushed, though glared at the other. This child seems to be unaware of his lineage. "A good thing you were able to stop him."

"I failed," Rochis was blatant and very honest. "This son had a brother. Although he was the original prospect, the darkness had taken the other. Same eyes." His own emerald hues had turned to pin me with a stare. "Similar possibilities."

"Is there any way we can track him down?"

"He has been rogue for years now Captain. We do not know where he will be going. Neither have we found his lair."

As expected. Nothing but facts. I had always anticipated the Dark Bossers to be a difficulty. This had been proven now. I had to make a quick decision on what was needed to be done.

"We keep this one," I told Rochis with a certainty. "If he was the original target perhaps we can use him to lure that Bosser out of hiding. Then we can destroy him."

"You'll use this child as bait?"

I glared then. "In war, all is fair Rochis. We do what we do," I said and made sure no arguments would be raised. I had been perhaps ruthless. I was that way then. Our strategies worked because I would not be swayed by anyone else's opinion. Not then, not on this one now. I made this clear to my Trinity.

"Yes my Lord," and he conceded, reluctant maybe as he bent a knee and talked to the boy.

"Will you find my brother?" Such pleading. He was in shock and terror, worried and hurt that I somehow imagined my cousin flinching, bless his heart a gentler soul. "In the morning. For now, you need to sleep." A lie. He had already tapped two gloved fingers against the other's forehead and enchanted him with a Specific.

"But my brother-" sleepy eyes falling heavily after those gem orbs faded to blank. I was only satisfied when finally I heard the interjection from Rochis, "You have no brother" with that the boy had fallen into deep slumber, dropping onto his side on the carpet.

I shook my head. "Change that colour. We better hide him for now. Also, send him to the Forest god's army."

Rochis snapped a look up at me as if that remark had all but disturbed his serene face. I challenged his point. "What?"

"But that army is ruthless!"

"They are ours just the same. Besides," I gestured at the sleeping form. "If he dies there then he is not worth investing on."

I had left with a turn. I was not going to let him ruin any plans I was forming. I did not however bank on him taking other measures such as making certain to train this captive personally into our Discipline. Nor reverse the enchantment that night with a condition:

"Forget now, but when I die, remember," Rochis had tapped the Specific to alter it. "Your brother's memories are not something that should be lost to you forever."


	5. Brothers of the Guerres

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest Authors: Shion, Chalice and Vance.
> 
> Somewhat the continuation of The Bond Between Brothers, this time, focusing on what had happened to Chalice after Salem's abduction. When he meets fellow sufferers in all this madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are Slices from the "Whose Memories" Roleplay, a memory between brothers in arms this time, Chalice Roan and Vance Kial Simeon. The point-of-view of these accounts shift from one person to the other.

**// Chalice //**

You could never see the stars from down here. Not the skies nor clouds. Never mind if the cages in this forest were suspended some fifty or more feet above ground, the bars made of an enchanted sort of vine said to be blessed by the god of this area who takes prisoners and does not let them leave. I never believed this. I never believed him. The only feeling that I have developed for him was a certain loathing because, in all honesty, his myth might be true. I was still trapped here. I couldn't get out. I had tried to get out but nothing had become of that.

For almost three years, according to my own count, that is in estimates I kept making at least, my routine consisted of the same things: confinement. Training. More confinement. Discipline. And. War. When we were not tucked away in these circular 'shelters' at most times of the day, conveniently stripped to minimal to ensure we had not the slightest advantage to use for escape, we would be sent to unfamiliar territories as a vanguard to taking down prior defenses. From where I could not see anything else, not when the smoke of the guerre was clouding my sight, the deafening sounds of battle cries and blades, weapons clashing blocking my ears.

Had. To. Focus. Or else any next war would be my last war. I had seen many die this way had I not? It was my first lesson the first day I had been tossed into the jaws of a conquering. A massacre was what I met. A sword that I had to take in a hand to kill someone lest he killed me. That day was still vivid in my mind. . .

I still could never see the stars.

But then what does it matter anymore? What does it do me to be pitied by these loving lights when for all I knew I would be trapped here for all eternity? I had nowhere to go. I had nothing to live for. My past was something which eluded me every time I tried to think on it. A blank was what it is. I had that void within me and I could never fill it. Yet somehow there was a promise to not forget somewhere that I was supposed to keep. But not forget what?

' Don't forget me. . . '

Never forget who? Who? Who was it?

I had been looking at my hands for a long time now, the night chirping around us to the hymn of groans and utter discontent, the other prisoners kept in the cages with me mumbling to themselves in a daze, already insane, and some in a catatonic state, the continuous isolation pushing them to the brink of crazy more and more. Not I however. I had regarded the situation with a strong sense of pity and then resignation and then apathy finally, although there were nights that when I realize that said void in my chest, in said nights such as this, I would find myself in mourning. The only time I had cried again. After so long a while since I last learned to take a life with my bare hands.

Why now of all nights? I had a guerre to deal with tomorrow. I had a battle to begin and survive. Why now think of the memories that I have a feeling I would never get back?

"I heard you had a mission in the Berain District. How'd that go?"

A voice stalled me to gaping, wide eyes turning towards the source but finding it a bit difficult to peer through the tangle of the vines of my own small space. I had to look harder, knuckles hurriedly wiping at the tears straying but not really saying anything in return. Just movement, making the circular confinement creak and swing, weightless and not weightless at the same time. "Who. . ." I finally opened my mouth and said something but it seemed like a dream to my ears. Or was I now beginning to hear things?

"What? You thought everyone had already lost their minds up here?"

There it was again. I looked over my bare shoulders, shivering slightly from the cold as I tried to find a better spot to position myself. I felt sore all over. Every muscle seemed to scream in revolt from the crown of my head to the soles of my naked feet. But there was that voice. I somehow wanted to know where it came from yet I feared it could have come from my head. Then again, if it were a voice in my head, maybe now I had the license to go insane like everyone else here. The last straw near to getting burned to cinders.

"N-not really," I found the voice to answer it, as meek as it sounded, as I tried to open up the space between the vines. "It's just I've never spoken to anyone else here before."

To my relief, from the other cage just to the right of me I saw an eye peek out. In this light, he had the clouds in his eyes. Was I looking at a storm? Those I knew that had from time to time escaped and poured upon us. It made the atmosphere even darker around here. That first glance into his eyes reminded me of them.

"Well I thought you were a goner too for a while now, the way you have been like deathly quiet all these years we have been up here. I was kind of apprehensive," the voice not my own said back. ". . .but then you cry like I do sometimes after all. First time I saw you did though. Thought you were stone."

I blinked the strain out of my eyes, rubbed at them to adjust more to the blackness. Had he been watching me all this time? Who was he?

He volunteered a name.

"Vance," he laughed at my silence and I heard his own cage quiver. "Vance Kial. You?"

"C-Chalice. Averque," somehow the concept of conversation had become alien to me. I never knew the names of the beings known as my brothers-in-arms in this unprivileged troupe. We were nameless faces. This would have been the first time I met someone. Someone whose face I could not fully see.

"Put it there."

But he took the effort to reach out, a hand forced through the gaps of the vine bars that he left hanging for me to grasp. I hesitated then and there, but then did the same and reached for him as well. Another warm creature. I was not going out of my mind. There was someone else still 'alive' here in the forest. He seemed to mirror my relief. "Glad I ain't have to go talking to air now. These cages do stuff to you. Sometimes I could hear a voice in my head." He was jesting. Or maybe there was some semblance of truth to that. I knew well enough people mentally died here. They were gone before they were actually dead.

I shivered again.

Somehow, I want to feel a different cold than this. Something white. White. What white? What was I thinking? I hugged myself.

"Are you. . ." I trailed off. I was somehow not going to ask the obvious but he said it anyway, "A captive like you? Yeah. Same. I was part of around eight prisoners taken as spoils of a war from my Realm."

I leaned my back against the bars. "Where are the others?"

His voice paused for a while that I thought he had fallen asleep or maybe had some injuries that had drained him. Since when had I felt a close emotion to fear? Not in years but only in a few minutes with a stranger I barely met. "I don't know. One moment they were here, the next. . .you know how we have to assume the worst. They had been sent off and none has returned."

Like the lives of most of us. We were expendable. "But tell me about you? How'd you get those set of eyes? They look like the colour of the sunset in one place I've been."

Was he able to look at the skies unlike I? How did he manage that? I felt silent again. He called out to me: "You don't remember?" I shook my head although I was very much aware he may not see it. I have not the slightest recollection of anything since being here. Vance appeared to have been responding to me by instinct.

"Blessed amnesia. You're lucky! Some of us here wish we could forget. That's why they go insane," he remarked with a small voice, trailing behind with enough meaning that it made me turn to spy through the gaps again, fingers clasping the small leaves that had overgrown. Cursed god of the forest. Someday I will end up killing him for this, a part of me cussed. Then invariably, something caught my eye. It was the form of someone I knew was one of 'them'. The beings that put us here. I glared at him.

Was he not the one they called Les? His twin swords were strapped crossed over each other behind him, the handles easily accessed just somewhere his rib level. Such an air of confidence. He had a domineering aura about him. I despised him. Like all of t h e m.

"You know what I want to be in another year or so?" Vance's voice echoed with the quiet and I realized he was also looking at the form that had passed by below, the latter's boots crushing the tundra under. It obeyed him somehow. There still hung that unanswered question which my new acquaintance did not hesitate to respond to, "That. . ." he was mouthing.

"A Legionnaire?" I did not understand.

He chuckled and swung his cage to bump into mine and I held on. "What? You have to admit, the only thing that would get us out of these cages is if we become Trinity.

"Don't say you want to be a prisoner all your life?"

I saw his smile through the layers separating us and I visibly swallowed. He. . .felt like a dangerous being to me all of the sudden. Something unsure and could erupt. I had no words. He still had some.

"I hope you rest well. I feel a storm coming, whispering against my skin."

* * *

**// Vance //**

My days in the cages were long and restless. At least that's what recollection served me. I knew I had been thrown there long before everyone else was. And by the time people were losing their sanity I had already crossed over mine. I had been having relapses in fact. The many moments alone and apart to which I had witnessed countless others die that death. That slow and agonizing deterioration that consumed so many of us here.

I had seen the others perish. In a way I had also died inside. But unlike the mad and crazed fools surrounding me during many an eerie night in these forests, my suffering was a little personal. It was silent. I had shrunk into myself. I had hallucinated of certain days and in restless sleep had memorized my own nightmares. Enough that once they let me run outside I was perfectly the monster. I had no regard as to who or what needed to be done. I just did it. As soon as I could. That way right after I could look up and pray though no gods heard me.

Or had it been that my lamentations were answered a little too late?

I had been the lone survivor of a pack of eight. I had been counting off my brethren one by one as they left, sent to these useless confrontations we had not wanted to be part of. Until the last had turned his gaze at me and with a maniacal grin bid me live. How? When I knew for sure that when they do leave there was not a chance for them to have survived alive. Because I knew the Legionnaires were thorough. Good if any of our lot had managed to escape but I doubted that. The most likely would be that they had died. Most of my tribe were already half-broken to begin with. What was a push more to make them collapse like a doll pile.

As was going to happen to me. I accepted that finally. As the cries of the angry and the depraved rose in chorus around me. Imploration heard by none but ourselves. I. ..was also on the brink of that mindset. Dangling above the grounds of sanity and just thinking.. .thinking that any moment now. That bare connection would sever and I would plummet into the same darkness.

It did not happen.

I had seen him one day. This youth that was almost the same age as I was with his blank eyes looking out in contemplation. I got curious, ripping through the vines to stare at his expression. He was confused. But he had a knowing thought in him. A spark still there that, unlike everyone else here, remained. Even after years that we had been tossed and thrown about. Damned these hands that dragged our chains and fetters to places cursed.

It took me a while to make a friend out of him. Frankly because I was scared to some degree. What if he also died? What if like those I had come here with he too would not come back one day? I was so afraid. I didn't want to make that connection when in any moment it could be torn off. Yet to my surprise, he endured. He had stayed alive and came back every time. Like a stubborn weed under the sunlight. We became kin without meeting. I felt for him like we had been brothers. Then when he was finally moved to the cage beside me, I decided to break the quiet.

He had been crying that day. I don't know why but I had grown unhappy of hearing the sobs of others. This state of being pathetic unnerved me. So I talked to him. And he responded in kind. In a sense, that would have been the first time I had felt relief here in a very long time. I had met someone who shared my fate. And like myself he was not happy about it.

* * *

Three weeks after that encounter and him and I were always dragged around together. The many times we had been sent to guerres, we were part of the same team. He saved me as many times as I may have saved him. Our weapons were used to help each other survive. Then unexpectedly, from the other side of the cages, we met another like us. He had been moved to join our little cluster up the trees after almost all of the ones on that said side had dropped dead. Like so many gnats and flies. They had no choice but to let him join those still living. If that was what you called the 'existence' Chalice and I had...

I was just maybe watching the world decompose before my eyes. The stench of burning corpses and flesh just now being eaten slowly by nature rising that for a moment I could not tell if this was still purgatory or hell had arrived. The battle field we fell into was vast. Too vast in fact that I could see mounds of the departed scaling like hills all around. Red earth. Black skies. Everything. Blood-soaked. Like the weather had rained this shade.

I dragged a dirtied hand through my hair. And heaved what amount of air there was left. I choked on my own blood. I could taste it in my mouth that I had to spit it out. Taking a seat on a small pile of bodies dripping whatever fluid there was to drip. I didn't care anymore. It was all a case of self-preservation. If I had not killed them, they would have killed me. Or us as I groaned in frustration and shook my head at the other two with me. Roman and Chalice. They had been arguing again. This time it had been a rather violently physical one.

"Are you both done now?" With an impatience I was waving the sword before dropping its point down to the ground. Palm resting on the hilt to support my forward leaning form. I was frowning at them. "Do you ever realize that you do not have any use for each other dead?"

Well at least at that time they had released one another. Spent in a fist-fight, they were both just a panting mess left and right before me. Cuts and bruises all over even disaster-ridden faces. I scratched at my nape. Gnats were starting to claim homes in the cadavers. Means we have been here a while. I didn't like being insect bait. I stood up.

"You two better break it up," I had gone to one and the other, pulling them to their feet by their arms. They still had strength left. Like myself, we had gone through the battle as efficiently as we could have. We had watched each other's backs. And while the rest were goners in the last few hours, we stayed safe. Fighting to the last minute but safe.

I was looking towards that looming direction now. The cavalry's here to pick us up. As a flash of white and something glorious came riding a prison carriage to where we were. I urged them then. I had pushed them both up. "Come on you two. Time to go home." I could not help but snort at the word. Home? What home?

My gaze had met that of the Clergy then. Rochis was his name. We could not address him personally. But though he was not supposed to be here, he was. He always was and was the first to say the same thing: "You three are still alive I see."

"Yeah well hell didn't like to have us yet. Maybe for tea?" I spat sarcasm back as Chalice spat blood to the ground. Somehow he had broken a rib or two. I could sense it on them both. They were worse for wear than I was.

"No, let me," and I volunteered to take their weapons and surrender them to the Legionnaires before they had chained us off into the prison carriage. Searching us down for anything we may have concealed. Our thankless work was done. Still going to be a bumpy ride back though.

* * *

The trip was mostly wrought in silence. As the hours ticked and the carriage's movements became steady coming into the flatter terrain of the road to the cages, I looked at the other two before me. A marred hand grabbing at the chain of the shackle around one ankle. Tugging at it a bit. Too tight. It wasn't like we could escape under these conditions. We were all exhausted already. Hungry. Thirsting. I could feel the skin peel from my lips. It was that dry. Now I was being rubbed raw around my wrists and ankles too. Neck braced with iron that it was sore there as well.

I knew they also shared the sentiment. But then from where the two were, they kept quiet. This was not right. Were they still arguing? I pulled myself to their side.

"Hey. .." I gave them both a grin. ".. .what's that cliche expression they use to describe this again? Oh yeah! Like you two are cat and dog chasing each other." I peered at them both, flinching from the tight constrictions but just trying my best to get them to notice what I was doing. With the same haggard expression they finally turned to me. I grinned on. "You know what though? I feel like the old dog needing to watch the both of you constantly. And you two are these cats always arguing. The felines of the forest fit you both better."

This time, I reached for Roman and tousled his darker hair. Then drew him by his nape to knock my forehead with his before I did the same to Chalice. A hand out to bring him closer that way I could press my forehead to his too. "There's only three of us left now. Make peace or we'll be having a difficult time. All right? We're supposed to be brothers."

I let them go and piled back to my own spot. Just because the chains had allowed me all that I could be allowed. I heard their own links clatter.

"Sorry," Roman had whispered before dropping his face into the arms he had drawn around his knees. Chalice was looking elsewhere in the dim confinement. But he too followed that. "Sorry. . ."

I grinned again, feeling more like the older brother here though we may have been just the same in age. Orphaned prisoners. We had met the same cruel fates. Yet glad to have found a companion to our suffering. "Ain't so hard eh?" I chuckled. Before my face lost all its colour as suddenly I felt a shift outside. The carriage. It was moving a different way.

I watched them register the same look. A bewilderment as Roman crawled up on his knees to press an ear to the walls of the box they put us in. "You felt that?" he said, palms running against the wood. His chains rattling with the rest of ours.

"This isn't the way to the cages is it?" Chalice whispered and Roman shook his head. "I can't feel the cold anymore. We are riding away from the forests!" The latter said back.

I had been jogged into wondering, "Where are they taking us-" that before I saw one of us pull at his shackles and then immediately banging against the front wall where the Legionnaires were surely seated. Driving on. "Oh hey Chalice!"

"Hey! The hell are you taking us!? Where are we going!!" he demanded in a voice I knew was in panic. I could feel his fear and in a sense I was almost infected by it. But letting him rage in here would get us punishment. We had no use for that today.

"Hey hey. ..Chal. Cut it out," I had to slap him into waking. "It doesn't matter." I was muttering repeatedly now. I had to. I was telling myself that as well. I held him back by his arms and steadied him. "It doesn't matter. We don't have a choice in this. Settle down. Save your energy.

"We'll need it if they're thinking of sending us to another mission."

He was catching his breath and I too was. For a few seconds making us stand there stock-still. Then the exhaustion finally sinking us both to the floor. I rolled on my back. He had his turned to me. I reached a hand to ruffle his sticky mop of hair. If he had been bathed and clean, he would look like a cherub with these locks. Anyone of us would. "Hey. It's fine. We'll survive. Let's get as much rest as we can all right?" I was finally suggesting, the tiredness wrapping my form that my sight was swimming. I got walloped real bad in that stunt earlier. I don't doubt I have a clot in the head somewhere now.

I just wanted to sleep finally. My body was in agreement and arranging itself where it could be at least slightly comfortable. I could not stop my lids from drooping. I yawned. I think Chalice had fallen asleep before I could. But Roman. Rome was brooding in this void we were kept in.

I think it was his voice that I heard last. Had I been looking at him? At his form that had resumed its previous position? Curled against a corner like that.

"They'll keep sending us off to these places. We'll die in a guerre eventually.

"It's only a matter of when and where."

For a second there. I believed him to be right. Rather it was most likely.

* * *

**// Captain Shion Claudius //**

I was in blatant discontent.

Even with victories heaped at every side, this was not good enough for me, ambitious as I was and determined...determined to build a strong group of beings that made all my pursuits as relentless. My avarice unquenched like a fire burning day and night. And very much destructive to all who had been involved, even my own Men, the Muses we had steward over. But my greatest penchant was in picking out the slaves. It was always from them that I expected more. I expected more from their line a certain stone to polish, a diamond if there could be, prepared to lose every single one of them for the sake of finding the rarity whose mettle had been tempered through and through by several trials.

I was cruel, I knew, but I was likewise young and worse than any god, was never half decisive. I stayed on my path with a one-track mind, could not be anything else less than myself! Thus everyone around me must never be less the same way in my eyes.

That day I recall I had gathered them again, in a small banquet where victories were getting celebrated, just for the thirty-six others in my presence. Also to mourn the dead as a few of us had departed.

"Take the Muses out of the room please," I had told the Protectors, glad that at least these were the young Gems and not the Flowers. Bless them they had such tender hearts that they did not need the harm of the little details of what I had in mind that night. What I had in mind while drunk on the strength of liquor and some other brew that put those lower servants to sleep easy on the first cup. I had developed a taste for alcohol so neither myself nor these beings I had chosen to surround myself with were expected to be in repose soon. They were here for reasons. My very best. They had sworn to me and that in itself was a powerful feeling.

"Yes Captain."

And just like that, the females were filed on out, their sweet, convivial voices chattering through the corridors as they would be sent to their rooms for the night, to continue their own parties away from the Men. Save for the rest that were left in the room with me: Vanaela, in particular, playing with a staff and some enchantments she had been polishing; Lestat behind me in a way seemingly falling asleep as he leaned against the farther wall but was actually stuck in a contemplative state; and Rochis, my cousin, quietly seated and reading through his bibles, turning the pages with care.

I was having the last slaves called in today. The last because the most disappointing news had reached my knowing. Out of more than two hundred captives, only three remained in the cages. That means the casualties had doubled since the last guerre. I was more than annoyed...I was furious! Yet these three were still three more tested souls. They could do well as additions but how would they fare?

"There were still some at the other cages but their sanity is up for debate," Vanae was cleaning her short staff, tapping the sphere crowning its top to gaze into the fortunes there.

She had been making divination as of late, and they had become rather accurate by the day, accurate enough that I trusted it when she said that now would be the best time to call forth new blood. And call forth I did as one by one, these ragged forms were dragged into our presence, chained to each other and then sank to the rug before us, some of the forty making bets and guesses, a few harsh murmurings I silenced as I stood up and paced forward.

"So these three?" I pulled out a sword that had been decorating the side of my seat, pressing its flat-end to the one who had the most defiant look on his face among them all.

"Hey watch it!" he snapped back with a growl and immediately at least two of my other Legionnaires stood from their seats with a scowl on their faces. I stopped them part of the way. Nothing I could not handle, I assured them.

"You're spunky," I grinned down at him, making him look up at me by the point of the blade, pressing it deep enough to draw blood. "I'll handle this one. Les and Rochis can pick one of the other two."

I turned my golden eyes towards the lone Fighting Muse in the room. "Vanae?"

She shrugged past me and stood with her curves in a stride, tucking her staff under an arm, halting to tell me something I knew she would always say, "I'll pass. I have some work on the Muses needing to be done.

"Enjoy your toys."

Cold as ever. Refined like ice. She made me smile. The reason maybe that she did not want to teach *it* anymore, although as all the Legion knew she was a very stunning teacher. She stuck to the League of the Fighting Muses these days however, refusing to nurture anything else. Call it loyalty maybe.

"You have no humour..." I found myself chuckling, making that roaring slave before me crane his head up more and I could visibly see him bristle like a wild animal, the storm dancing in his eyes.

He would make a stunning Trinity. Behind the dirt and traces of malnutrition, the soot of war and disaster, the smell of death clinging, he did not look bad at all.

But then that was when I had noticed from the corner of my eyes, my brethren making his move.

"Rochis?"

He had overstepped Les who was perhaps still not entirely out of his thoughts just yet, the latter raising a brow of curiosity. He stood before then fell to a knee in front the one at the center of the three, a gloved hand reaching to lift that face, the owner of whom met him with no resistance. Or rather had not the strength left to resist. I could notice him labouring for breath. The signs of injuries. Him and the one beside him. I did not know their names but I was sure they were badly mangled.

"I'll take this one if it's all right Captain," Rochis volunteered and my brows creased, dropping the sword to release my pick of the litter to look at my cousin's choice.

Then I stared into his emerald eyes with the question, met only by the response of his seriousness and the sincerity behind his words. That was when I realized that this was that gem-eyed child. He had survived...

"Are you serious?" but he knew what and how to handle these. They were his specialty weren't they? I gave it a second thought however, although I ended up sighing, waving Les to stand down. "Very well. I am sure your counterpart doesn't mind."

I motioned at my right hand. The Dual Wielder just smirked and shook his head, going for the other slave then, inspecting him, pressing fingers to feel the ribs and the other visibly groaned out in pain. This confirmed it. They were damaged beyond what we had been realizing.

"Hey! Wait! Where are you taking us!"

I had expected to be met by protest. I had them separated that day, the links of their confinement broken though the chains stayed on. "Chalice! Roman!"

The other two had been escorted off as it was time to tame each of our own subjects. I tugged at the hair of mine sharply, getting his attention by fisting my hand there.

"I suggest you hold your tongue lest you lose it. Keep quiet." And I slipped a blindfold around his eyes. "Worry about yourself instead of them."

* * *

**// Chalice //**

I felt the silence. It felt colder now. It felt even more isolating.

I knew we had been separated because I could no longer sense them both, my brothers in this circumstance, they were gone where I am uncertain of. As I am uncertain of my own here. Blindfolded and led off to somewhere. I knew voicing out anything might get me a hard smack, so I just bit down my tongue, became mute and although cautious was exhausted beyond degree. I could hardly walk. I could hardly feel my sides. I must be bruised all over. I have not checked on my injuries really. Just aware that certain places on me were numb and others were entirely sore, places that had me flinching and stumbling every now and then, still in chains, the blood where they marked all dried up now, all dried up like the patches of others, not my body's own, from our earlier guerre. I was hungry. I was dying. I wish I did die today.

Suddenly I felt a tug, almost tumbling as bare feet and toes hit rock and boulder, flinching again and taking a knee to catch my breath. We halted. Where was I now? Where was this place now?

"Come. . ." hands. Icy. And that voice. It was the Battle Priest drawing me to my feet and by my shoulders turning me to face a direction. Where was this direction? I kept panting, finding it harder and harder to take in air. Was I really that badly hurt? My insides felt like they have been shredded somewhere.

His hands were gone a minute, only to latch onto the iron circles digging into my wrists, the sort with dull spikes lining inside to trap you in place. It does not cut but moving around with it too much is abrasive. More blood slipping. New scars. I felt his breath against my ear and I went stock-still. "Listen. . ." an order. I swallowed nothing down a parched throat. "I'll take these off, but do not run. If you do, you'll give me every right to hurt you.

"Understood?"

I had no choice. I nodded weakly, unable to find my voice. I'd have done anything at this point to be released from these shackles. They were making me feel faint. My consciousness was barely holding on. Thankfully he did let me go, something clicking against metal to loosen those chains and I could move again. My next instinct was to run, but feeling his looming presence even behind blinded eyes, I sank to my knees then sat down, clutching at my side, my other hand grasping moist earth. Roots. Plants. I felt leaves. Like those that poke around you in the cages. Where. . .was I?

I nearly tore the blindfold off, but it took the best of my efforts as the bare movement of it put more pressure on wounds which I already had. I kept my eyes closed for a bit, scared to see what was before me. That was when I caught wind of a certain scent, a scent that was unlike anything in the forest god's domain that for a moment the sweetness of it stopped me, made my head reel. It finally urged me to peek, slowly lifting my lids to darkness before I had blinked repeatedly to clear my view. Then gaped. I was staring up at the largeness of a very blue moon and around it, all over us both, glowing flowers that shone as bright as the Luna they were paying tribute to.

A breeze blew in. Petals ruffled about and I was distracted by them like so many stars, its constellations dwarfing the background of the clearest skies, but they paled by comparison. The moon got to me more as I sat there without knowing what to do, my mind in a haze, my heart beating loudly. What was this feeling? I was outside for the first time in eons, hands reaching to touch the many blossoms about. Flowers. So many flowers. . .sudden laughter. I turned towards the source of it confused and the Priest stood there with much composure, looking up at the same sky I had found myself enamoured with.

"Beautiful isn't it?" he said with a smile. "Do you like it?" Was he really asking me? My lips parted to make the words but my voice was not there. I could do nothing but nodded and in a way he understood. He walked to tower beside me.

"Would you like see places like this more often? Chalice?" He knew my name? But how? The warring sklaves kept in the cages were not called by any name, or known as anything else but the petty weapons they were. We lived and died every day yet here my name passed his lips so easily, a Legionnaire addressing me like he knew me since then. I stared into his eyes. Such a shade of green they were almost emerald, or could it be the moon? His gaze was absorbing the light.

I did not get what he wanted from me. I was even more confused and cast my attentions elsewhere to find answers I could not grasp in the moment, my mind wandering around. Then I felt his hand again, on my wrist this time and I hissed in pain, my arm drawn out so he could check the marks and other bruises there. I did not dare look up at him again, fingers curling. I was not going to chance anything to disobedience or to the lack of any upbringing and be tossed back to where I had been. At least that was what a voice behind my head was whispering. This man, now inspecting my injuries as he knelt before me, can throw me behind solitude for years again. I shivered at that. I was fearful of everything. Where were they? Vance and Roman? What is happening to them now?

"Nothing a little potion and some ointments cannot heal. I can use the Legion Specific if needed. Are you hungry?" My body was reminded and my insides churned, growling like a feral animal that I clutched at it again. But that nourishment was not the only thing he had in mind. "Are you hungry Chalice?" he again repeated, fingers tipping my face up so I was staring at him again, at his eyes filled with light. "Do you want. . .your freedom?"

* * *

**// Vance //**

We stood on an overhanging and the blasted storms were breaking through the horizon. So much rain and lightning. My kind of weather. It had been three months since that day. Never a guerre again after that. Just the personal touches of Legionnaire training with myself, Chalice and Roman brought under the wings of the very people who thrust us upon this road in the first place. But it was fine by me. I could care less because it allowed us some freedom. And last month I was reunited with them.. .

It was at the same ballroom where we had been separated.

I had been schooled into obedience and was walking right behind the one everyone called Captain. He was actually a very powerful man. I had matched fists with him while he taught me and I was easily outclassed. He could outclass anyone in Legion as a matter of fact. A magnificent tactician. A determined head. He moved his troops about with purpose. Most always got what he wanted. And he wanted all the power he could. Even if he meant to destroy and trample others. He taught me how cruel he can become. How utterly merciless it terrified me to my core.

I would never forget it.

"Vance are you listening?"

I had to shake myself up from dreaming. He had been standing before me with a scowl on his face. I did not want to get into trouble again. I often displeased him he said. "Ye-yes Captain." I kept my head low, following him in silence once he'd turned a heel and led us forward again.

We were headed towards the building I now know to be Legionhold. Passing by the familiar path towards the cages but we did not take that and for a moment I was wondering what had happened to the others. What was happening there now? Were there new ones like us in there? In worry I wondered if they were both back there again.

"Vance," again, the Captain stopped to chastise me. But with just that sharp eye over a shoulder. It was enough to demand my silence and all my attention. I listened. "Look ahead. Not behind. Not at memories. You'll keep stumbling over and over that way."

He was right. I was where I had to be and I agreed. I was determined to submit to any and all his lessons to get to the place where he wanted me. To be as powerful as he needed to keep me here. And out of those cages. I did not want to go back. My greatest fear was that. Though at the back of my head I was still worried. I was worried for them. I despaired almost.

It had been a few minutes before we reached Legionhold. I was told there was news everyone needed to hear. I took to the stairs with a heavy heart. Recollecting was not pleasant. It left a bitter taste in my mouth that I was needing to hurl. I felt sick. For a moment I was about to collapse. But a hand steadied me when I could not take another step.

"Easy. You look like you were about to fall," said the voice behind that grip and I looked up to thank whoever it was. To my surprise, a priestly smile greeted me, his face familiar immediately. Saint Rochis. It was him. He was here.

He had visited a few times while I was confined to the Captain's Palace. I could not speak to him that time though. I tried to run away my first few nights that the Captain found it necessary to collar me to the wall in my room where I learned the Legion Laws. The keys kept conveniently away. The only good thing was that the place had so many large windows. I could see outside. At the visitors that came and went. At the view of the open skies.. .

I returned a smile as best I could to the Priest. I tried to say thanks. He stole my words with his own. "Why are you not hurrying to see them inside?" he gave me a pat of encouragement. "Chalice and Roman have been waiting."

My storm eyes might have been as large as the moon of this country that day. When he mentioned them and I was certain he did, all I could do was run. I ran in and almost slipped at the threshold. I ran until I could see them both. My heart racing. I was longing for the company again but most importantly they were safe. They were there and safe.

Seated opposite each other along one of the tables, looking better than I had remembered them, I could not deny the grin on my face at the realization that they had made it. W e made it. W e had survived the worse.. .

"Chal.. .Rome. .."

They turned to look at me just as surprised. A slow moment. A moment trapped in my memory. It would stay to be one of the most cherished. Us three. No longer in the centre of more guerres.

So we all thought.. .

Three months after. It was a mission they had told us to undertake. But only after we had all done learning enough. But unlike most of the guerres we have been in before this one made me feel excited. Why would it not when from that height I was looking down at one of those very legendary things. Creature Classes they were called. Each explosive and destructive. They had power we needed to claim for our own. Another god reared them. Or rather they were born somewhere special and this god matches them to the right being who will later become a Legionnaire. That god was present. He was watching. The storm had mellowed down somehow.

"It's electric. A Weather Beast? I want that one," I smiled over to the two who were in the same way eyeing them below. Their faces looked so serious. Yet Chalice had his gem eyes trained on the god.

"He does not have my faith. Why would he let me claim his Creature?"

I immediately hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him close so we could knock heads. "You don't need to believe in a god to take the power he is offering.

"Come on you two. This is our chance!"

I would always be the conscience of enthusiasm. We all wanted this. I knew behind their stoic faces they were also thinking the same way. "Let's survive this. Let's Ascend together. We'll be Legionnaires on top of the world!" I dragged my weapon out of its sheath.

"Such energy. You might die you realize?" Rome with a frown gripped at the handles of his dual Arsenal and followed. More like he seemed to be having no choice. I was ready to jump.

Chalice shook his head and chuckled, finally, breaking into a smile I had not seen these few months. "Leap of fate?" he said, pun intended. I conceded with an approving nod: "Leap of fate."

And with not a second thought more to spare, lest we had a change of heart, the three of us who were nothing threw everything we got into the task that day. We were not going to leave until we earned what we deserved. After all we had gone through.

We deserved to become Trinity.

* * *

**// Chalice //**

My head thrummed. At the beginning there was a steady pulse, a small drumming which began from my temples that little by little grew to hammer at the sides of my head and all too suddenly shot through my brain, an ache that had me as quickly awakened to sitting up with a scream almost. Too soon as the room spun and whirled around me, hands grabbing my head, only for another separate pair reaching out to steady me. It was Rochis. His words at first made no sense but I caught ". . .head injury. . ." in his statement and I have to make an effort to focus on the rest. What happened? Was I out cold? He slid a palm under the loose strands hung down my forehead and felt for any signs of fever, which I appeared to have but slightly. I was urged to lay back down. I didn't fight that, gladly going neath the pleasant feel of sheets and crisp linen, minute by minute allowing myself to adjust to the situation. I was at the infirmary.

"Do not get up too soon. You have been asleep for a while and might not have strength in your limbs yet," it was my mentor speaking as he reached for a small ornate knife nearby, starting to peel an apple from a pile among baskets of fruits. I had been told I was in recovery, and these were from the Muses who heard of what happened. "You are most popular with our females. They were asking how you were." He chuckled.

How was I? I don't really know. I can't even recall anything in the last few minutes and admittedly was in such a disoriented state that I could not give him proper answers. My body ached certain pains, the discomfort making me dizzy again that all I could do was stare at the ceiling. What happened? I did my best at recalling but then could recall nothing except that dream that had been persisting in my thoughts, my mind's eye looking from another's perspective at my own unconscious body, lain comfortably in sleep against a large and very bright Feline, one I had not seen before. It was. . .watching over me. A Creature that now felt familiar to me.

A Creature.

I shot up in realization and Rochis did laugh this time as I again groaned and fell backwards, an arm dropping over my eyes to hide my embarrassment. I kept forgetting I was injured. "Now Apparent. Did I not just say you needed to take it easy? You have just woken up from being out cold for a while."

"How long had I been sleeping?" My voice came out raspy, throat dry that all I could was whisper that. My mentor helped me to some water while he was explaining, "A week at most. But can you not feel that? You are no longer alone."

I was not alone. He was right. My claim to being Trinity had started with an argument because the forest god forced his will to the creature god and picked my spirit for me yet in the end that never mattered too much. Not now under these circumstances. The title 'Apparent' never sounded so good to my ears that it made me burst into tears, sobbing quietly like a child in the presence of my teacher who was telling me that I did well, that he always knew I could do it, that without any doubt his belief of me never faltered even once. My tears were to thank him, for relief finally and for those many years lost in a sea of near-endless brutality. I had just really felt that freedom he'd promised. I was not going back and was not going back alone to its memories.

"Chalice! You're awake!" Vance's voice. I hurriedly wiped those tears upon the bandages and peered from under that arm, seeing them hurrying in past the Trinity healers and fumbling before Rochis quieted them down. My other two comrades, one of them according to the creature god was my brother to the Creature Class. He was jesting about my 'misfortune', that my Creature was the twin of his, "We thought you weren't going to wake up Ru. You were sleeping like a log." And telling me that with such a straight face, the barest of smiles turning the corner of his lips but visibly enough that I knew he had also been relieved like I was. We have all surpassed a trial. We had made it successfully. Vance was bragging about it. You can't keep him hushed.

"Look at these!" He showed us his back and flexed a bit, the markings there still healing and some were in fact raw. I remember now. He stood between the Weather Beast and us. These were where the claws of that Creature had sank in because, what were his words, "I'll choose my friends over your pathetic test you worthless god." Ironic when he wanted all of this more badly than I or Rome would, but then he actually would stay with us despite having the option to choose his own destiny. I am glad that these were they that I had spent my life with. As agreed, nein, vowed, we will be Trinity together.

I couldn't help but smile.

Rome was laughing however as my teacher gave Vance a harmless smack on the head with the crook of his Ferula. "Child, I said, keep it down! Do you want to be thrown out?" The interesting life as an Heir Apparent thus began for all of us.

* * *

**// Vance //**

We had been running. A good two, three hours maybe. But farther and farther from Legionhold and our home. We had not intended to run away. Far from that, this escape had its own reasons. Except the others might truly view it like that. Because Chalice had been feeding everyone the wrong ideas and we were going to earn ourselves a one-way ticket back to the cages for sure.

Something happened to him in the last few months. It had been subtle almost in the first few days but then he had gone darker and violent every week. Enough that he had caused plenty of disturbance among those older than us. He had been tolerated to an extent. However the outbursts kept erupting from him that it had become increasingly difficult to understand what was happening. Like there was a looming shadow over Chalice's persona for a time now which only began to manifest itself. It was after becoming an Apparent. With the steady flow of the days he seemed to have ceased becoming himself. We had asked if it had been the Creature? Was it poisoned? No one could tell. Not even the god who granted it.

With his change, Roman and I resolved to get him out of harm's way. We kept close company of him and steered him out and off of trouble as best as we could especially since the older Trinity had been voicing complaints. We had been to Blind Obedience at least twice now. But Chalice was a rebel to it like he did not care. He said the life in those cages was better than here. He'd rather die there than be a sklave here.

That was a shock to everyone. Chalice would never say such a thing.. .

"I thought you were watching him!?"

Rome made a frustrated growl directed at me, the fatigue reaching his voice as he spat out, "Fuck that! I have been watching him! How would I know that he would do this?"

Chalice ran away today finally. But not before making sure he had left some lasting damage that would get us likewise tossed back or executed. Forcing us to follow after him as we did now. To drag him back home and have him explain the treachery done. How we lost a guerre because of it.

This was not like Chalice at all! The one we had been through the trials of Conversion with was far from this warmonger who was reckless with his comrades. Something was off. We decided finally. That we had now better put our heads at stake to find the cause. But then he just had to beat us to it. He left chaos back in Legionhold. We chased after him but now we feel like fugitives. Where would we go after we catch up to him? I had been trying to calm myself down numerous times but the fears were rising again.

"It's this way. Feel that?"

Rome was better at all this tracking than I was. He was after all the twin of Chal's Creature. My Weather Beast though had been incredibly restless. Maybe because I was most certain I'd beat that Feline to his senses once I get a hold of him. I felt angry at him for once, "If he was going to self-destruct, he should not have dragged us with him. This is.. ." I sounded murderous for the first time in a while. I didn't mean it though. I was just really worried.

But then fate had a way for us to find out the truth without meaning to. That day when we had chanced upon Chalice again, we had seen something we were not supposed to have encountered.

We don't know what i t was. But its presence was like a nightmare that dimmed out all light. Everything seemed to die at its embrace and, as we looked harder, in its fervent clutches was our friend, all his strength gone. This.. .thing. It was consuming him!

Then right there you realize this was that darkness. It was the very same looming over Chalice at every passing day. The same that had perhaps poisoned his mind. I was trapped with indecision as to what to do about it though. This monster. It scared me. It drew certain horrors from in me.

"Vance! Snap out of it!! He's going to kill Chalice!"

Instinct maybe. Or just those words hitting hard at me. I didn't want to lose any more of my family. Not to the situation and not to the thing that was trying to eat them. I don't know how my body managed to move. But I recall becoming faster than the very lightning coursing the skies.

"Let. Chalice. GO!"

I knew I had used a skill I was not very familiar with that day. But the area rose and fell with thunder. My first storm. It was hell on earth. I had snatched Chalice out of his captor. Roman making the dive to reach him in time before he was flung so far off and into the explosion of my powers gone berserk. I stared into this Darkness then. It grinned back at me.

"Why are Trinity sooo powerful? Sooo d e l i c i o u s?" It was the deep voice of lunacy. This was.. .a monster. One who laid its hands on my only known family and now laid a hand to touch me with its taint. I hated it. I hissed. I gnashed my teeth at it. I did not want it near anyone I cared for.

Raising a summon to lightning, I wanted to just blow it to oblivion. I despised it so much that in that day as the streaks fell, I never stopped until everything.. .until every single thing.. .

Was covered with light.

* * *

**// Captain Shion Claudius //**

The mass fall of lightning was a telltale sign of where they were and where we had to go, myself with around fourteen other Legionnaires armed to the teeth and ready, having dealt and quelled an earlier uproar caused by our Dark Bossers, from whose group we actually determined that indeed that 'being' had returned home, only that cunningly he had avoided detection up until now, hijacking Chalice's mental state more or less since he may not have been able to reach Legionhold in his own body. Throne would have trapped him. Throne which was this said being's prison continent along with others of his kind, the outer rim of our country which kept certain things out, and kept certain creatures in. I was more or less infuriated that day I recall, because I had found out that due to this I was almost near to losing three of our best Apparents, and putting at risk my other men with Darkness' return. Chalice ran away. Roman and my own disciple, Vance, upped and also left and I would never have that. These were my Trinity to-be. I would not let anything as dangerous as a Darkling lay fingers upon my tools of war -they were mine. They belonged to Legion and I would take them back for Legion regardless if we ended up confronting one of our own mistakes. We just had to find those three before h e did something to them; by the looks of it he already was doing something to them, the crazed beat of lightning clearly causing so much destruction before it ebbed down to calmer thunder.

I sent the men fanning out, surrounding the area, though by the time we had arrived it was all over, Chalice safe in Roman's charge as Vance stood panting, his arms dark with burns at his first try of using the Weather Beast's skills. Powerful. Perfect. But he was trembling, body shivering as I approached him. He looked up at me with a blank stare before realizing who I was and, snapping out of his frenzied state, began to fearfully apologize.

"It wasn't us Captain. There was a being. He was trying to take Chalice away and I...we had to...we didn't-"

"We know Vance. Do not worry," I interjected to assure him we understood what happened. I reached hands to lay them on his shoulders, looking at him closely to tell him he had done well before he collapsed from sheer exhaustion, myself letting his form slump itself against my own so he would not meet rocky ground razed by his still unpredictable power. Rochis had been urging the same of Roman whom, trapped up by his own instinct and adrenaline, refused to let go of his weaponry, protective of the unconscious Chalice whose countenance looked too pale for words. He was obviously ill. All three of them were. Darkness and his disease. I frowned.

* * *

"Had h e been found?"

Lestat shook his head that night when I met him and his hunting party, a capable set of pursuers who were going out again to scour the area for the threat. He had been admitting to how difficult it was becoming, especially since this was a Dark Bosser that was no more than an essence with no form: he could appear once more any moment or he could have already fled, evading our traps and efforts again.

"Who knew one Darkling could be so much trouble; irksome to think he managed to very easily slip under our watch and get to one of our Apparents," Les had voiced with irritation. "We'll go on another sweep. The Fighting Muses are being secured as we speak. The Flowers more importantly. We will make sure that they stay in the Garden Palace with enough watchful eyes."

With that he left, Rochis from the other side of the room having that look colouring his features as he settled an empty potion bottle to the bedside. He was personally nursing Chalice to health, massive Spell Circles of Light and Grand Exorcism casting an ethereal glow on his features from below. He frowned at me.

"You knew he would come back for this one," he motioned to the Feline in bed. "What more now that he had sensed Chalice to have acquired power?"

"Don't tell me you are in doubt Roc? A Priest should have more faith."

"I have more than enough, Captain, but there is trouble in paradise we cannot control," he sighed. "I do not want to use my own student as the bait to seduce catastrophe."

I narrowed my eyes at his words. "Then make him even more powerful. Make him Ascend. Then he would be the snare that will latch onto the monster you seem to fear in Darkness."

I was not jesting. I envisioned both Vance and Roman in the other rooms as we had visited them earlier to take the same path and graduate to Trinship without fail. Let's see if after that Darkness would still be able to tamper with any of their minds.

Chalice stirred out of his feverish confusion and in a sudden and unexpected move reached a hand out deliriously, "Sa-Salem..." I was mirroring the same shock on Rochis' face. "He took...Salem..." was he recalling it all? "He has Salem...

"He has my brother..."


	6. Gunner - Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Struggling as a Scholar, then struggling in the Gunnery Faction. Would Makia ever amount to something, especially in the eyes of the one that matters most?

My admiration for him was like this deep ocean. Perhaps more than just admiration, I somehow fell in love with his charms. More than that, I fell in love with his quality, his sense of duty and his aspirations, the way he carried himself with an *explosiveness*, my cheeks flushing warm as my chest hummed a song to his every step whenever I chance upon him, my own stare dogging his every stride. A little too dreamily perhaps that it may have been obvious. He was no ordinary man. He was nothing short than perfect.

And he would most definitely not notice me.

I always seem to remember that day with a certain beating. Back in the King's Palace when all Scholars were called in to attend the Annual Ball of the Becoming, this certain time of the year when the Bibles were switched out to usher in a new patron for the year, the next twelve months being that of Mother Ela, the goddess of snow and ice, where after the proper ceremonies, we had all gone on to the Dance, a most attended affair that I had been curious about, everyone who was coming talking of being faultlessly dressed. That perfect pair of shoes to match with headpieces and accessories. While I was but a wallflower.

I was one of those who stood somewhere unseen, a soul too dreary for such a jubilation that I deemed myself worth the pillar I had decided to lean against, an onlooker as my other fellow Scholars took to the floor, itinerants touring the ballroom to the tune of the orchestra and this wonder called the Music Maker said to be able to mimic every known instrument there is, a contraption of the Bards.

Oh it was lovely. Even if I was not one for dancing, I was one for the sounds of it, my gaze appreciating the overall appeal of the venue, the way they made it seem like stars were falling from the ceiling as snow, a decorated moon and sun revolving at the center where most of the people had concentrated, partners in a whirl of happiness under clumps of silk and puffs made to look like clouds. There was even one thundering somewhere. Magic maybe. I could not partake of it. I could not dance.

That reason made me decide to spend the next hours sampling all the food there was to offer, a few of my closer friends dragging me along, they already tipsy since early this evening. The spread was impressive this year like it had been last I was told, food towers common and heaped high with delicacies from all the corners of the Realms. The best chefs were here on personal invitation. I can't wait, said my sarcasm. Like last year this was going to be my fare of the night.

I was drifting senselessly with my plateful of shrimp and golden olives, listening to the chatter of my companions as they gossiped about their future as Scholars, about who would have the highest possibility of maybe converting to an actual Faction, our smartest in class, Sabina, already deciding to try out for the Magick Council or Alchemy.

Her future's bright. As conflicting to my own. I wanted to make it to Monster Base, the only Faction I ever considered, but failed around creatures rather miserably. I could not even get an Armored Horse's colt to heel, much less tame a Thundergut. I was scared of dragons and they made up most of the common species under the Monster Base's care.

I shrunk at the prospect. Maybe I'd return to my hometown a loser. After many years studying imagine that. All my effort would be for naught. I had only proven I was not the smartest in the bunch. My skills were typical and mediocre. I would never fit in the league of the Factions. Better eat shrimps while I can. I might be thrust back to my disconsolate world after graduation, peddling lowly-brewed potions all the remaining of my life.

While I was contemplating on these things, crossing the floor to the other side where the tables were, I hardly noticed the sudden change in the atmosphere of the ballroom, how a hush had blown in and a hand suddenly pulling me aside.

"Makia! What are you doing?!"

I could not understand the concern painting her face. I had blankly stared at where she was pointing and simply gaped as realization finally hit me. I panicked. Or more rightly said, I shied away and slid to hide behind at least a layer of other attendees, my plate neglected on a table somewhere as 'they' paraded into view. Everyone was in awe and, admittedly, so was I.

One word: Trinity. They were the highest form of achievement any Denizen could aspire for. They were the most adept, the most brilliant, the most powerful combatants of the land, the post so utterly arduous to achieve that the number was exclusive to a very few, a very SELECT few trained, raised and mentored by the Royal Highness himself. Well according to rumors.

The path to Trinship was one full of gruel tasks and hardships they said, each of its current members tested through hell and high water just to reach this summit. Giving it their all to the point of near-death. They were tempered as steel and sharpened by many deadly encounters in their process of learning the many secrets of the Kingdom. Afterwards, they stay on that acme for life. For no Trinity ever gets knocked off their pedestal -transformed maybe, but never replaced. Most likely this was because of certain specializations particular only to that or this being in their circle. The Trinity as individuals were said to be very unique from one to the other.

I admit I had gotten excited at the thought and had regretted drawing behind the crowd as we were pushed aside by an entourage, the small group of Trinity in what surely was their regal gait making their way forward along the aisle. I do not know their faces, the Senior Scholars however do, debating about who was the more impressive, those who had the chance to encounter them getting into the competitive mood of wording as many facts as they could about these Beasts of the Battlefield. I was all ears…

"The Clergy Judas Cain Killian Luther Arthforth. Son of the late Saint Rochis and the demoness Mistress Smith of the Iron Towers. Nephew to the King. He might as well be a prince and, true enough, here he is, a Trinity like his family. He's just a kid but let not his looks deceive you. He's anything but ordinary."

I turned my blue eyes towards this said being. As awesome as it already is, he now holds the status of Head for the Legion Church, a small nipper of four or five, pale silvery golden hair, fiery red eyes and a set of short horns in similar color protruding from his head in betrayal of the other half of his origins. I heard them talk of being at High Mass before, something which I should consider attending now. This Clergy they spoke of was able to change form into a teen our age, mature enough to carry his many roles for the Faction although for now he was a footling doing his best to stray ahead from the rest of the cortege. Being cute at that. Unbelievable how someone of that age was already a Trinity.

"Who's that one?"

"Trinity Vance Kial Simeon. The Weather Beast. He could have decided to pick any Faction to Head himself but he stays without affiliation to any even to this day. He wished to be directly under the King's command alone and obviously listens to no one else."

"Why'd they call him the Weather Beast?"

The man in question suddenly turned to us, hearing the whispers and I froze. He had such a strong set of features, sharp like lightning and even under robes you could tell how toned his muscles were. Mind you, he looked godly with his height, the pride in his stance. And those eyes. They were gray and shifting. Like clouds in the sky impending of rain. Storm eyes. It scared and awed me at the same time. I don't know why I was unable to look away. Thinking it now, I suppose this was the same feeling the other Seniors felt at the moment. The swallowing at the throat. This cold sweaty sense of foreboding. It's never nice to speak about someone behind their back, in this case, while they were passing by.

"Vancey, what are you doing?"

And just as abruptly, there was a break in the atmosphere. Just as I thought there would be a confrontation, this gentle voice broke through the tension, like a smooth song drifting past, a cool breeze during an early morning. A shower of petals accompanied the said voice. Smoother than the snow outside, their feel like velvet. I cupped my hands together and with held breath watched it unfold with wonder, catching one of these pinkish folds in the palm of my hands. So…beautiful.

"Flower. Good evening."

The Weather Beast turned to extend his hand, a movement everyone followed towards the receiver of the invitation, and there she was, the source of all this, a lady I had not seen nor heard of until now. With as much warmth in her smile, she beamed her rosy glance at him, pressing her smaller palm unto the male Trinity's while gracefully gathering at her dress which was peppered with its colored diamonds from the waist down. She made an equally gracile curtsy, her hair suddenly coming to life.

Flowers! Scores and layers of them in varied sizes with their creeping tendrils and coils dancing in her tresses, blooming orchidias that made for her a wondrous crown, a few pearls strung to her locks catching them in reflection. I heard but only one whispered name after, "Iron Chrysanthemum" which made me gape after the image they presented now.

The Weather Beast began walking her away, a lord hooking her arm around his own in a gentlemanly fashion, fragile as she looked yet all the more defined beside him. She could tame his personality and the slightest of gestures from her made the crowd nod and heed, the petals still trailing from her as she moved along, myself just noticing that the blooms in her hair actually ran a cycle. Buds, flowers, those falling and then new buds springing forth.

"How. Does she do that?" I whispered in question to myself.

"Chrysanthemum. The only female in the Trinity. She is also what they call a Fighting Muse. Lovely as she appears, she is known to have taken on many opponents twice or more her size, constantly sparring with the males of their Class and is as vicious a battler as any Man in the group. It would be bad to assume her the weakest. That is no delicate flower."

A smallish form taking on the likes of gods like the male counterpart who had tarried her away. Difficult to imagine how something so beautiful is someone so dangerous as well. She was both breathtaking and powerful, the reserved flame in her beating throughout like the flowers shifting in her hair and mystifying everyone. A Female Trinity. The only one. Amazing...

The lines broke. The ballroom after their entrance fell to an organized disorder again, its occupants now taking to the song as the orchestra began a new note, livelier than earlier to perhaps indulge the hype the arrival of these wonders had inspired. I was left there watching, eyes not moving from where they had fastened on the two prominent figures, the little Clergy joining them next and pulling at the Muse's hand with his wee ones to lead her up the privileged balconies, the Weather Beast following with a shake of his head. They would sit with the hierarchy, far from the reach of the common like I. To be them. It's all a fantasy.

* * *

I had tire of the civilities after an hour or so, my classmates having gone to watch as the band of Trinity took to the floor a few minutes after the third song, the elegant Flower as graceful a dancer and surprisingly well-accompanied by the Weather Beast who was no stranger it appeared to the art of it as well. They looked like a very dreamy couple. Even the little Eminence was versed with it, leading away ladies to the floor to dance with. He was beyond cute. I felt left out. Everyone else seemed connected to the celebration, even those other friends of mine who had been wallflowers with me earlier. They were enjoying it. I could not. I had too much on my mind.

Instead I chose to stray into the gardens, seeking the silence of the sheltered greenhouses under the moonlight, ears listening to the sound of nocturnal creatures straining their music to join the natural cacophony of the evening, the murmurs of the fountains far removed from the noise of the inner halls and the brutal wintry chill outside. Here was peace, the stars glowing bright even if it was to backdrop one of the four Lunas we call Eons in the Kingdom, their spray of constellations a relief to my soul even if I was just looking at them through the panes of glass, the midnight flowers blooming undisturbed, the arbors decorated with vine, with shadows and with the warmth of quiet. Best place to be, cold as the winds may blow elsewhere, harsh the Season that came.

"Enjoying the view?"

My reverie broke. A sudden intrusion to my solitude that I scowled at before realizing it was just another Denizen who gave me his smile and a quick "Sorry" for disturbing my meditation. He made a bow of his head, another gentleman, as he asked what it was I was doing outside by my lonesome. I don't know why I began answering his questions.

"I don't do well in crowds," I shrugged. "I wanted to go back to my dormitory but the carriage won't be back until another hour at least. You can say I'm stuck here."

He laughed lightly then. "A kindred spirit," he offered, stepping into the light of the lanterns from the shadows where he had been hidden.

The first thing I noticed was that he was taller than I was, his build a good proportion of muscles, and with a standing similar to that of a noble. He was perhaps a knight, the air about him, it was strong. I looked him from the bottom up, the simple set of formal clothes just making him dashing and - I paused, jaw this time dropping - I had just seen his face and now had just peered into his eyes.

"Anything the matter?"

His eyes! They were deep orbs of purple and clear, very very clear, the glint in them like a mirror to my reflection, delving pools. Where have I seen them before? Where have I…

A decade ago in Begotten. There was a Dragon Horde that had rampaged into the pens and had eaten their way half through the herds owned by the families there. I wasn't even a resident of the area. I was just visiting some relatives during the lean months to help my family. I had not suspected that I would be caught in the dilemma.

After the dragons had their taste of cattle, they seemed to change appetites and began running after the Denizens there. The people of the town had done their best to duck and hide but there I was, the poor and naive urchin. I was not even conscious what the dangers were. The sandstorms had separated me from my clan. I got caught.

Trapped between the claws of the dreadful wyvern, I was attempting to scream, my crying muddled, unable to push myself out of its vice-like grip, its freshly bloodied teeth gnashing at me that in my child's mind I had already seen how my body would be torn into shreds by its canines. I could see my death. Eaten alive by a scaly dragon whose breath smelt like sulfur and rotten flesh. Not really a very lovely way to pass on. But apparently I survived that did I not? Charge it to my more unconventional experiences. I still lived to tell the tale. How? Someone saved me.

I actually did not know what happened. Memory didn't serve me right at times that's why I wasn't really seen as smart. But despite being held down the way I was, almost squashed to the ground, caged in talons that could crumble boulders with sheer force alone, something fell from the skies that rescued me. It first got to the other dragons then to the one who wanted my head, smacking it aside so violently that it threw it off its feet and I was tossed back and over like a rag doll.

It was a scene played out in slow motion, but as I was hurled up and outward, I witnessed how the dragon roared in pain and without finishing its first chorus of howls was struck again by a curving ray of light. I did not understand it, only that I was safely grabbed around the collar of my clothes and tossed even farther back to the waiting arms of my parents. I could not say much about the landing, but when I looked up, at what was before us now, there…there /he/ was.

I never knew his name, only partly recalled his face. To me however, he was my savior, the coolest and calmest man I had ever seen. With eyes like colored ice or crystal, nay, they were gems. Strong and determined gems that had planted a sudden beat into my heart, tugging at all its strings. He turned his back at me. I was too befuddled to stop him.

Yet I saw how well he fought. How he bravely clashed head-on and forward towards the invading fray and with bullets and an explosive dexterity no man I knew possessed even to this day, took down dragon after dragon with his group, clearing the small town of its troubles and saving the day. I was in the crowd of those that had stared in admiration. I watched him carve his presence on the horde that dared disturb the disorderly peace of this herders' paradise.

Had I thanked him? I think not. But he had smiled down at me and reached a hand to pat me on the head. "Stay out of trouble okay?" that voice, it was the same voice. It held the same soothing lull and now I remember. His face. He had not aged a day and here he was again before me, after so long I scarce could recall.

"Keep out of trouble, okay?"

The same advice. The same smile. Gods of Citadelia! He had left as immense an impression as he had back then yet what had I done just staring at him while he was still there? Why did I not talk to him? I should have told him that it was I. I was that child he saved! I could have thanked him at last.

"I best be going."

With a respectful bow of his head, he turned his back to me again. This time I could not help myself. He was someone I wanted to know more about, since that day I had always been curious of him, a hand reaching out unconsciously to stop him, to make him look at me again with those jewel eyes. But he had already walked on.

"There you are!"

"Makia! What are you doing here?"

My friends had come. I was distracted for a minute, and when I looked back the next thing, I found him gone. I turned to follow the path he had taken. Where. Where was he?

I had been dragged back, to the ballroom, in a flow of arms and hands that seemed to not exist to me while my mind was transported to deeper thoughts. Why now had I only realized these feelings had not changed, just lain dormant then like a fire bird reborn, renewed since the day he had saved me? It had been locked away and perhaps had at some point been forgotten but the strings he had plucked in my heart had woven him a tapestry from my youth and now wanted to brandish it out as a banner for him. Will I ever see him again?

"Why did you have to bring me back in here anyway? I just want to go wait out the carriage."

"You're such a thrill killer. The dances just restarted."

They already knew I was not one for such gaiety. I had failed at this craft like I failed everything else on the Scholar's curriculum. Yet I was here being led around. Ironically, I became thankful of it later on that day.

"There he is! Look Makia!!"

The excited pointing had me baffled. I turned sharply about in annoyance and just...stared. I froze. I must have gaped again haven't I? The man… *that* man was on the floor. My feet took a few steps forward, but he had taken a few steps towards someone else. It was the lovely Iron Chrysanthemum. He gathered her to himself and pressed her closely, whispering with a gentle smile something that made her giggle, his arms melding her to him in such a sensuous fashion that my heart flickered. Then they danced. But it was genuinely intimate that I felt angered, the color rising to my cheeks. That was the first time I had ever felt jealous.

"Trinity Chalice Roan Averque," one of my friends supplied and I snapped in attention to her. "Gunnery Captain. Also known as the Czar of the Curving Bullets…"

Curving Bullets. Was that what he called the attack that he'd saved my life with? So he was a Trinity? That should have come as no surprise. Neither was the fact that he was a Council Minister and among the Heads of the Kingdom's Factions. He had perhaps walked the red carpet closely behind the King without myself ever seeing it. How clueless I had become that it frustrated me immediately!

After that night, I now knew which Faction I wanted to be part of.

* * *

After Graduation, I had considered all my options, but veered away from the first choice I had in mind, dropping the Monster Base tracts into the garbage bin to replace them with that of the Gunnery, spreading the information on the desk of my room. Would you have guessed the Kingdom had its roots even in Space? The Faction's scope of dominion extending beyond the tech cities here on the terrestrial and in sub-terrain. They had constructed and colonized the nearby moons and planets of the cosmos. Amazing. Captain Chalice had brought his dedication to new heights and had me and others fascinated even more.

"I hope your decision has nothing to do with the fact that you adore him so much."

Gustean. A Scholar of fiery red hair and dark eyes. Freckle-faced but a pleasant companion all in all. I met him at an orientation for Gunnery and we clicked. He was aiming to be a Mecha Engineer, already had his plans set and his blueprints drawn that I was impressed with how much he had thought this out. Meanwhile I was struggling with the simplest of decisions. The test to get in involved altering an old human machine gun to fit the Realms' standards and I was a nervous wreck. 'Gusty' had offered to help me out so he was here in my dormitory more often now during this break. When Spring comes we will have to vacate our rooms.

"What? No," I frowned at his remark and sought to deny it. "You know I want to be a Rogue Bullet."

I swore and he scoffed at it, rolling his eyes with a chuckle. He teased me about this 'crush' I had for Captain Chalice often that it was vexing but he was truly a good fellow. Because he lets me get back at him if ever he does rile me about it. He also somehow dragged me back to reality.

"You know his standing in the Kingdom. He's a Trinity...one of t h e m. I heard the King has a say as to who becomes their mates, and the partner for someone like him is most always another Trinity.

"Unless you make it to Heir Apparent. Which is about as far-fetched a dream as anyone could make it. He's not for the Ordinary like us," he said.

He was right. I didn't refuse the fact that the distance between our ranks was Dragonflight to Citadelia, and that he already had someone special in particular reserved for him, myself recalling the lovely Chrysanthemum. That would probably be her. Plus, I hadn't seen him since. Other than the Ball and that one time at High Mass in fact, I was never able to catch him in public ever. I just hear of his exploits, his spars and his appearances with the Royals but I would never spot him out in the open. Never again.

"I could dream right Gust?"

That was what it may ever be. A dream.

* * *

The day we left the Dormitories was the start of our days in the folds of the actual Factions. While my other classmates went on to be Bards or Knights, Alchemists, Mages or Dancers, I aimed for the Gunnery with Gust. My friend had passed the signings with no hassle, was tested and got high marks to get the endorsements he needed. I barely got through the exams but was hooked in as a substitute when one of the other passers shifted to be part of Monster Base the last minute. Fated? Call me a sore loser. I now belonged to a club.

"Lousy…" we met a Rogue Bullet by the name of Sinquain, known as the Nuker due to the reason that his armament consisted mostly of bombs.

He had the same temperament to boot, in charge of us 'Low Lives' or what they called the camp consisting of those that had failed the signups the first time. Gustean belonged to the Shells. He was an ace that would make it to the Rogue league soon if permitted.

"Really had to pick the Gunnery when you could've just lived a less stressful life plantin' herbs or maybe feedin' monsters!"

I was already regretting my decisions. This Faction seemed to be the worse at treating its members. I was looking at the rag-tag group I was in and we all looked like we had the same thought in mind, reflected by tired faces, doubtful stares. Nuker didn't make it any easier.

After being shipped to the Faction Isles, we were sent to do most of the scullery work for the higher sections. We had scrubbed floors, cooked meals, polished boots…served like dogs under the seniors that I wished I never asked to be part of this. Gust didn't seem to see me the same way anymore either. He took advanced lessons and pretended to not know me when he passed me by. No longer my help as I struggled alongside the other Low Lives and started Basic on everything.

The tasks piled. So did the trouble. It was clear after a few months that we were not regarded any better than leeches and even those things were treated with more care than we were. Some of us got bullied. Some quit. I had my share of the ill-treatment that I had come back to my room bruised, falling asleep crying, but stomached it all in to wake up the next day and do it all over again. I had not left.

I reminded myself that the only consolation, I being able to send my family a decent salary at least, was enough. The Seniors can pick on me as much as they want, the friend who told me he would stick with me can ignore me to oblivion, and Nuker can scream all he wanted, but I was staying. Something in me wanted to stick with this Faction. It wasn't him this time. I haven't seen Trinity Chalice in over a year now that his name had faded into a myth to me once more...

"You maggots are the sorriest bunch I had the p l e a s u r e o'seein' all my life an' lemme tell ya I might gladly DIE of a heart attack--"

He was not even half done with this /sarcasm/, my ears and heart steeled as he whipped insults and orders one after another, curses running like the blood in his veins left and right. We had all become cold. We, the ones left of the Low Lives, somehow became indifferent to this form of treatment and regarded it as normal. Shantee, a lanky girl from the Deserts of Abyssalia, even began making jokes about it now. We all snickered once Nuker left.

"Did you notice he had said the same thing yesterday?" she started with a drawl, making an impression that sounded just like the Bullet. " 'I might gladly DIE of a heart attack!'

"Well? Why won't he?"

I laughed while scrubbing at the floorboards of the kitchen. Mess duties felt livelier with them around in some way. We talked of nonsense and other stuff, removed from the dreary rounds we had here at the Faction Base. Sometimes we talked about our reasons.

"Say Makia. Why'd you join this Faction anyway? If I remember right, before, you said you wanted to join the Monster Base. Why did you get yourself here?"

Augustus was a boy that was in the same Dormitory as I was. He was in a different section as a Scholar but had become close pals with me here in the Isles after I saved him from his bullies. Ended up in detention for a day after giving two Seniors broken noses, but we discovered we had so much in common as fellow Low Lives. He was also a herder's son. We came from the same Continent with his family just living farther into Inner DarkThrone. We found out we could discuss things easily.

"Perhaps the same reason as you. I mean, you could have been a Trader right? Why didn't you?"

We laughed at each other.

Shantee was throwing leftovers again and we had turned it into a food battle within thirty minutes. Much to Nuker's wrath, of course. It always earned us three even more hours of extra work but it wasn't so bad at all anymore. We had adjusted. We were like blades toughened by our designation, moving much better through our life in the Gunnery.

* * *

It were the months after. Of all the Low Lives, only three of us remained -August, Shan and myself. Our ranks had not budged an inch. We still had carried out most of the dirty work for the Seniors, laboring in the shadows behind them, treated worse and seen worst by them. But then something else became noticeably clear when it had only been us in the group.

Nuker personally began to teach us things besides what was in the program. We were learning information that even I had been surprised about, discovering how much of a late bloomer we were and that we had a knack of sponging up a lot of knowledge, more than the other members could.

Shantee became proficient at hand battles, able to disarm anybody who cared to step in her way, now capable of tossing Seniors older than herself over the ring when it was time for combat training. She had lost her bullies and earned admirers, the Strong Girl of the Low Lives they called her now. Everyone was noticing how she had grown. She was more woman now than anything and had a grace about her, able to turn heads, far from the lanky and awkward girl she had been when we first came here.

Augustus became an excellent technologist. He was better than the older guys at fashioning weapons and boosting them, at one point roping me and Shan into creating a prototype of a Rail Gun to post on a high tower of the armory. Imagine the look on the Seniors' faces. They could not believe we had made it out of spares and junk, the parts they tossed from the tech plants. Usually the higher engineers were the only ones who could achieve such a feat. They hadn't expected a Low Life. They were seething.

As for myself, I became dedicated to the propulsion arts, my aim having not missed too many of a target since the day Nuker gave me a gun to fire. I also memorized the specifics of all the known weapons in the Gunnery Arms Bible, able to ascertain the type, capacity and make of any weapon at a glance, to dismantle it and assemble it repeatedly. Nuker had taken me to hunts. We took down game during certain assignments to keep the peace.

The Basics, Intermediate and Advanced teachings to level up no longer mattered to us, no need for going through the material like an infesting swarm but more attuned to finishing stuff hands on in a day, myself surprised that I could do so much when I had drowned in learning before. Nuker screamed less at us now. He trusted that we knew what to do. Although Low Lives still, we felt like we had gotten educated more of the world than the other members of our Faction.

We three had stopped going to lessons altogether, after finishing our chores, looking out into the horizon from the rooftops. When had it been wider, I wondered? I do not remember, but I liked the feeling.


	7. Gunner - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makia's journey in the Gunnery continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reading this far, have you ever wondered if Makia was male or female?

Dragon Season. The usual migration patterns bring the most esoteric of the species to the Faction Isles area and somewhat this becomes a typical affair, that is, to watch the beasts drift or limber by in such massive numbers, in tow and following them, a Monster Base member or two acting like impressive herders caring for these creatures many times larger the size of any sheep or cattle. We usually see them from afar, the Bossers or Ranchers making their records and keeping the rowdy younglings of the flock in line.

The Faction I had wanted to be a part of in the beginning. Not that I was not satisfied where I eventually ended up within the Gunnery now. It was just that watching them at that moment somewhat pinned in me a sense of nostalgia. Those days when I was still confused and very much confused. I'd have laughed at the me of then. Hadn't I an ulterior motive as to why I was here?

Reflecting on it, being honest about it personally, I did, didn't I? A useless brat just trailing after something superficial. The sum of my goals and aspirations. Maybe it had been shallow of me, now that I was scrutinizing my own misgivings. I started on this road with the most inappropriate of reasons, and now those...t h a t reason appeared to no longer be my aim. At least I believed I had found something far bigger than that here. In the company of my friends, my newfound resilience and a vision only us Low Lives could grasp.

"Whoa-whoa! Look at the size of that thing!!"

"Look at its mouth you mean? That can swallow the whole classroom with the Shells in it for dinner!"

We cackled.

Then there was a deafening roar that made us cover our ears, the booming loudness like a canon being shot from the distance. After that however, we still cracked up some more, finding that occurence to be such an amusing coincidence.

"Sorry big fella!" Shantee grinned, hollering towards the dragons as if they could hear and understand her all the way from where we are. "We ain't talking about you, y'know?"

We had the best seat for the Dragon Viewing this year, sneaking up here to this tower no obedient Shell dared go to. We claimed it as our own, often scheming here, dreaming here, seen wider possibilities of the world right here. Though for now, before us, not that far off, was another moment of recollection for me.

The Dragon Horde advancing to their Nesting Grounds reminded me of that time. This strange mix of amazement and dread I somehow still felt seeing these scaly behemoths traversing so close to our Faction lands. I've been having bouts of recollection regarding them since the Migration started. It seemed that I couldn't help but dream.

I knew the face my comrades made was nothing short than horrified when I pointed out, chuckling at the fact as the ever-unpredictable monsters thundered past us, its Alpha and Betas moving swiftly like the deadly pack of teeth, claws, hide and muscles that they are: "Something like that almost killed me when I was little…"

Shan and August immediately: "-WHAT!?" I could only laugh at their reaction.

I think...I had already forgotten the man. Chalice Averque, the Trinity Gunner, was no longer my reason to being in this Faction. I had my own dreams.

* * *

Nuker asked us to his office for something and as per usual we were trailed by the other students' stares. A mix of emotions behind those gazes: stun, amusement, even jealousy which was common. As Shantee, Augustus and myself cajoled our way to where we were to deliver this Gun Unit we'd cleaned and polished earlier.

Picked out from a strong box in storage. It was an old thing actually, but still reliable. It still fires as if it was brand new. I knew. I did test it out myself earlier.

"Wonder why Nuker wants this," Shantee was musing, counting her steps and skipping on a few. She was ecstatic today as August was jolly. Unusually so, this trip to our superior's office seemed to fire us up. Like something good was going to happen.

"Who knows?" I shrugged, shifting the case of the Gun Unit to my other hand, feeling a strain building that I had to flex my arm. "This thing is more commemoratory than functional.

"Who uses a weapon no one can even carry anyway?"

The Gun Unit was a dead weight. I even needed help raising it to fire -it was that heavy! Then, when it did discharge, it blew us three away. Literally a few feet away. It was that strong! I think it knocked my socks off.

"Well well...if it isn't the maggots."

We hadn't been called out like that in a while. No one dared to anymore against what some secret following of ours now calls as Nuker's Three. But recently some unsatisfied Shells, mostly failing Seniors and their Underlings, were looking to pick a bone with us.

Luckily enough, we did way better than that, ignoring the insults as we always had or, if we got fed up, turning a smirk towards that direction and returning an equivalent fire. We, after all, had nothing to lose. We were at the bottom of the ladder remember? These damned 'aristobrats' however do.

"Oh hey Danny. It seems your aim is not the only thing in need of some fine-tuning," I smirked, Shant and August cackling. "Call on me for a fist-fight if you can hit at least three successive targets with a Lariat all right-?"

"Assuming he can even lift one properly," snickered August.

"I'll dance with you any time!" I winked at him for show, watching the colour as it rose to his face. Any more than that and he'd have a heart attack it looked like.

Him and his groupies bristled like cats as we passed them by. Anger. But then that was all it ever amounted to. There's not a soul in the Academy that wanted to challenge us. Not for the reason that we were under Nuker's guidance personally, but because somehow everyone saw that we were prepared to stake our own lives on the line for each other.

They've seen us fight. They knew what we could do. I would not even put past it that some believed that we might become part of the Rogues one day...

"Did you see his face? He was about to explode!"

More laughter as we passed through the halls and the corridors, headed towards the private section reserved for the higher-ups of the Academy. There was nothing that could dampen the mood, us three moving on from that episode to discussing our respective concerns. We all were almost done with our Railgun Project. Now if only Nuker would lend us the missing pieces. He was suddenly being stingy this week.

"Fer cryin' out loud, you danged saps are takin' too long to get here! What'd you do? Flushed yer heads down the toilets?"

Nuker and his usual. We laughed some more at the greeting, glad to see that at least he seems to be in a good mood today too. He had his favourite brand of whiskey out.

"We took our time cleaning the Unit, Boss. The polishing needed more work than we expected," Shantee explained as I slid the case onto his desk with one heavy thud, our merry troop of three proceeding to stand before him. Awaiting further instructions. He didn't bother to open it.

Our superior instead merely gave us the verbal equivalent of middle finger. "Damned excuses. You coulda been done earlier if yer not pickin' them arguments with the Shells."

Then again he knew who was truly picking, smirking at us and then laughing as he stood up and pat the case of the Gun Unit. "Hopefully this pleases yer…

"...Captain."

The word struck us unprepared and, for a while, we all seemed to grimace. 'Captain'? Who was he-

"I'd like to introduce yer sorry lot to someone important to the Faction. Be damned grateful you sh*tty saps," we all followed the Rogue's motion and were all surprised at who had been observing our exchange this whole time, us three not even noticing until his tall frame had left the spot where he was leaning it against and walked fully into the room.

It was...him!

"Your language is still more colourful than your life, Nuke," said the Trinity, casting us a very piercing glance with his gem eyes.

I have not seen him in a while. How? How could he still have this effect? My heart all of the sudden skipped a beat at his presence. It hasn't done this in quite a while that I unconsciuosly clasped a hand over my chest. Him being here was still...drawing such an effect. I was at a loss. August and Shantee were both speechless. Nuker seemed to understand our situation and merely shrugged.

"These are them Low Lives I told you 'bout," he proceeded with introductions as the Man stood beside him, combing a gloved hand through his hair. I suddenly could not take my eyes off him. "Yer maggots, listen 'ere. This 'ere is Captain Chalice Averque, Head of our Gunnery Faction."

* * *

I was dead wrong. I thought I had forgotten the feeling but once more it had been stirred. All it took was to once more see him, to know he still exists. This time, closer than I'd ever seen him before.

He made me recall the past, to reminisce days when we had met, when he had saved me and, in a somewhat expected manner, rekindle the admiration I thought to have died out.

Turns out it was still very much alive and kicking. Dampened only by the lack of his presence but still there nonetheless...

The proceeding days had become busy at the Academy, with the Captain and a few of his Rogue Bullets staying over for the Migration, taking up residence at the Guest Houses. They were here to provide assistance to the Monster Base settling the affairs regarding the Dragons, since the specie could rampage at any moment, and we didn't need the damage that might result. Volatile these creatures, like gas waiting for the smallest spark, Nuker warned everyone.

Though besides that, something else seemed to be slowly igniting in the background. A competition of sorts that irritated me more than anything. A competition as to who can garner the Captain's attention.

Chalice Averque was a very dashing being. Pledged to be the King's Trinity, skilled and no less astonishing in his many conquests, he seemed to effortlessly draw the interest of most if not all the students in the Academy, excited glances turned his way whenever he was on the move, his equally intimidating Rogue Bullets at his heels.

Women seem to flock to him, males alike who were likewise intrigued and piqued by his stature. And whenever he was steel training, his sculpt of muscles exposed under the early sunrise of the day, sweating as he did a few laps around the yard, he always gathered this waiting crowd, of people Shantee now dubbed as ants because they trailed him everywhere.

That always put a frown on my face. Captain had so many admirers. It became clear I was not the only one. Some of them were even bolder than I could ever be. I would rather just keep my feelings towards him in the closet.

"What should we do with these?"

One day we were made to clean out the Private mailbox of Nuker's office which, sometime a week after the Captain had arrived, got choked with letters and small tokens for our Trinity Head. Obvious confessions, an exasperating number of them, which our Boss instructed us to toss.

"Captain don' need all that crap. And they're clutterin' my junk," Nuker growled, equally annoyed of them.

August asked to keep all the chocolates so we can snack on them later while Shantee was spying around the other gifts, thinking them a waste to throw away so she too kept a few. I didn't find any use for them. At the back of my mind, I was more than happy to burn all these letters, torch all these boxes and rip all these stuffed animals. I was acting like all of it had been infringing on something.

But what?

At certain nights I tossed in bed, trying to suppress this ache in my chest. Reality was, I had no right. I had not the claim to overreact to the current progress of things yet I was, admitting but only to myself, how jealous I had become, perturbed with myself for harbouring such feelings. Shan and August had been asking me what was wrong. I could not tell them anything, I knew. I could only let this feeling brew.

* * *

There was an uproar that morning, but with myself out of it after yet another sleepless night, I was walking through the grounds like I was drugged, nonchalant that even as a dragon screeched overhead, everyone else panicking or ducking, I had stayed drifting. I had not even noticed the other students calling my name in warning up until it happened.

I hit a wall.

But it turned out not to be a wall at all as, when I looked up, I was met by those mesmerizing set of gem-coloured eyes. I gaped. I stammered, falling on my butt in a delayed reaction, startled. As he lent me a hand, pulling me up and onto my feet, I stumbled into his stronger arms.

"You all right?"

Oh the gods! It was the Captain! I had not watched where I was going!

"Hey, can you hear me?"

I admittedly had to wretch my gaze off him and put some distance, staggering back and waving off his further assistance as I tried desperately to hide the sudden inflection of heat that rose to my face. I had to catch my breath, trying desperately to still my beating heart, noticing the usual crowds appearing, wanting not to make an embarrassment of myself. I also didn't want to be obvious.

"I-I'm fine Captain," was that even my voice? Or did I sound strung, excited maybe? 'Makia calm down!' If I could have smacked myself awake.

It took all my effort to look back up at him. My heart was still drumming, here and there. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going."

He paused for the longest time, then smiled at me, that simple, miraculous gesture that lightened his expression even more. Amazing. He was even more gorgeous in this light.

"Makia right?" I was surprised he knew my name. "We met at Nuke's office." How could I forget? It was one of the most impressionable moments for me, an enlightenment. Though I had this urge to suddenly tell him when we had actually met the first time. I took reign of that too. For now I could only nod.

"You have my thanks for giving the Gun Unit that grade A scrub. I was surprised you managed to make it function. Nuker told me that he supposedly gave you a dud."

Trust the boss to do that, and I wanted to roll my blue eyes at the revelation. Almost did, if not for the fact I was in such a circumstance.

"Oh that," I gave this awkward chuckle, scratching at my head just as awkwardly. The man sure can look into you. "It was no biggie Captain."

"But it is of importance to me. I will be giving that unit to someone you see," that was what he said. Only then did I understand. So that was what it was for?

"Speaking of which, I have yet to test fire it myself. Perhaps you can lead me to the range so I can do just that?"

I seemed to not have heard him at first. Rather my heart beat too fast and too loudly again that it prevented me from thinking straight. Did he just invite me to actually do something?

"Really?" I blurted out almost immediately and on such a casual note that I felt kind of embarrassed. Did he notice?

Yet instead of that, to my further surprise, he not only laughed so wholeheartedly, he had began to pursue the conversation, myself not quite able to believe that we were having this talk, our Trinity Head exchanging more than few of words with me.

"Since my Rogues are preoccupied with a wayward Appalea in the fringes of the territory, and I can't find Nuker, I don't see why not.

"I'm not disturbing you or anything, am I? You may be busy perhaps with your lessons?"

"Oh no Sir! I will accompany you!" did I sound a bit too enthusiastic? Perhaps desperate? I didn't want to lose this chance. I wanted to get closer to him. "I ain't got anything on my schedule today." I kind of lied. I had chores. But compared to that, this might only come once. A once-in-a-Realms-Luna kind of chance that I wasn't intending to waste. My hype was real.

* * *

People were looking. As I walked us to one of the open grounds used for testing ammo, leading him along the way through the class halls and buildings, I could feel such heavy stares, catching faint murmurs of gossip the way I usually do as a Low Life.

That was it, I feel their projected hostilities directed my way. But they can be envious all they want. Knowing how curious they were, how they all wished this was them in my place, somehow put a small smile on my face.

In a sense I felt proud and happy, trying to maintain my poker face and a certain professionalism if we could call it that, considering the distance he was from me. By the gods of Citadelia, he smelt so fresh, exuding this masculinity that no one can deny, towering me by at least a feet or so and proving to be even more gorgeous than I often imagined.

I kept stealing glances his way. He was not really hard to look at. Are all the King's Trinity Men like this? His Majesty must put them through hell. It seems to be among his most venerated of Men, it meant one needed a physique and stand that was close to perfection. We all do see him train so diligently. Like that was part of his responsibilities.

Not only that but he was likewise such an intellectual, catching up to my stride to talk matters in such a clearly knowing way. My admiration only deepened. More so once we got to the field. Was he going to show off just for me? I can't help but feel this way.

A crowd had gathered by the nearby stands once the Academy realized where it was we were going to. But none of them ever had the privilege. Everyone was kept back. Only I stood there at such a close proximity of him.

"Just maintain that distance if you will, Makia? I remember Nuke said you often tested his guns, but I'd like it better that you keep safe."

I could only nod. I'm surprised that he knows even that. He appeared to be quite attentive to even the smallest and perhaps insignificant details. Doesn't he know by doing so, he keeps pulling at my heart?

And when he was preparing to test, his back turned towards me, I could again see the man that rescued me at Begotten long ago. The very same I came to feel this way for. The reason why I was in the Gunnery to begin with.

I took what I'd said back. He is still on that list as to why I was here...

"Going hot!"

I snapped out of my thoughts in time to when the testing run started, the clay disks shot out from an automated machine from the side with a boom and I gaped. The Captain was unarmed though! Going to get the Gun Unit totally slipped my mind in all this rush.

But wait just a second. What even was going on?

Then I only came to truly understand how he really plays his skills once I saw him move, like silk sliding to a stance, and in the full force at his command, sent a fist flying from the side, appearing to deal a heady slash like he was giving someone the side punch, intending to break defenses. Except that the motion did something more.

I watched as that Gun Unit appeared, piece by piece materializing in his grasp as if being tugged out of thin air. I heard a click and I knew it was loaded, the safety easing cleanly as he pulled the trigger, the sound of a gunshot, such a fire, ringing clear across the area.

I think I swallowed, gaped, then swallowed some more. There was a thin, nearly invisible trail as the bullet discharged from its barrel swerved, curving in a way I've never known them to. Did they even behaved that way?

I had questions, confuzzled, especially as the motions hit and broke its targets. I had to see the movement again and again without blinking. I had to squint to see. How...how does he do this?

Also those shots. They were on point. His accuracy was second to none as he dealt with the moving disks, every single one shattered, never missing anything like the finest of beats.

Now I got it. This manner of battling. They'd given him a fitting moniker after all: Czar of the Curving Bullets. I understood now what that title entailed. This could never be more appropriate to define him. The crowd that day, cheering, clearly agreed.

How that dead weight of a weapon seemed as light as a feather in his hand was a complete wonder to me, but then again, it never should have shocked me. He was a Trinity after all. He was capable of so much more. They were legends.

"Well it works like a dream. Thanks for making sure it was put back together properly. You did an excellent job."

Earning such a praise. As he approached, inspecting the gun in his hand, as he extended his own to pat my head, I felt warm and satisfied. This meant I did good didn't I? I was so very proud of myself.

"Glad it didn't fall apart. I was afraid it would get stuck somewhere while you were using it, Captain," my genuine thoughts. Being this close to him, talking like this, it felt quite right.

I was useful. To the one my heart was beating for I was being of some help. To earn his esteem. It was a dream come true. Also, while he chuckled, while all this blithe lit up his face and expression, while he was giving me his attention...could I be faulted for feeling a bit more special than everyone else?

This man...he was the epitome of ideal. He was my ideal.

* * *

Shant and August took some time to come back from the Appalea incident. But when they did come back, they weren't the only ones with a tale to tell. I just had to mellow it down.

"You actually saw Captain Chalice pull that Gun Unit from Transit? Up close? That is so cool!"

I was only recently made aware that Shantee followed the lives of the Trinity. That in fact there was such a strong fan-base for each individual in this elite circle that some of the Kingdom press and publications had dedicated themselves exclusively to featuring them. Our Captain included. Thus she could report accurately about it, explaining to me what I had witnessed when I myself scarce comprehended the goings-on.

"A Transit?"

"Duh, it's a dimension of sorts where Trinity like our Captain store their Arsenals. Arsenals are a special set of weapons only someone like him can use!"

Perhaps I should read up more on the topic now. I struck myself as clueless. I didn't even get half of what she said. I admitted there was plenty I had to know about the man I liked and, secretly, I wanted to be familiar with everything that had to do about him.

Our worlds may be two ends apart, but that didn't mean I can't close the rift between one link at a time. I was feeling positive. After our little get-together earlier, I felt unstoppable.

"He's incredible," August nodded, but he was bound to be joking about it, I was sure. "Someday I'll be Trinity too!"

"Get rid of your love handles first!"

"Yeah Gus! Your flabbiness is hideous enough that the King might not consider!"

We laughed at each other.

It was a very lighthearted moment, a most astonishing moment. Who would have thought I was made even happier with but the shortest of times spent with him? It was very precious to me. I wondered if there would be more to come, praying to all gods or goddesses that could here me out in fact that that was not the last. May they bless me with such an encounter yet again.

"I heard the only thing that can match to Captain is a Darkling..." and she went on narrating about what these 'things' were.

"Shan, speak in Kiran we can understand, okay?" Gus joked to which she only frowned, only to then knock our friend by the back of his head with her fist for that comment.

Before I knew it, they were chasing and teasing after one another, causing a riot that was making me laugh out loud as they'd ran across the corridors. These two. They might just end up together.

I'm happy. I want my friends to stay as happy as they are now too. I also considered briefly if I should tell them about what put that smile back on my face, though how they would react to my little secret, bringing to mind the Captain's face before we parted after the gun testing, somewhat still stopped me from doing anything.

The heavens of Citadelia! I was smitten by this man.

Was it wrong then to want more of his heart...and his kindness at this point? Am I delusional?


	8. Sire I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Free-spirited and gentle. Noble and kind. He was known as the King that never stays put in his own Kingdom. He had his own darker secrets however.

Free-falling. The feel of the wind as it touched his face, embracing his body in a cool that is both kind and cruel, lashing at his very soul and being. The feel of helplessness, of allowing nature to drag at him, take over, pulling him down into such uncertainties. It's moments like these when the easiest thing to do was to give in, to surrender to the feel of it, the danger. Literally resting his fate on a force he could easily fight but he...just...did not...want to...

Golden eyes suddenly snapped open.

Plummeting at unbelievable speeds to certain death, the King suddenly broke his meditative fall and in one abrupt stop unfurled his wing sets, three powerful pairs of appendages anchored to his very bones spreading out to cushion the moment. The feathers scattered, the tufts exploding as he all but glided to safety, a small hollow created on the surface of the water as he seemed to have bounded off on it, skimming the surface with just his lengthy fingertips.

Far from the glimmer of the Palaces, its gold, its lights, its grandeur. Far from the entourage that always seemed to accompany him, the protection of its guards, the power of its mages. This to him was a moment of peace, removed from the tradition of politics and responsibilities. Where he was no King, merely a soul who can be left to ponder.

Dressed simple in plain robes that did not even reach his knees, hair free, pants loose though tucked within the confines of his walking boots, the Lord of the Realms spun above the water, his wings becoming a cocoon around him before he spread them out, the feathers dragging the water, splashing droplets which caught the eager daylight as the royal shot off, laughing, coming in fast towards the lands overhead.

Yet where was he now? The clouds here rolled endlessly on the horizon marking migratory rains which could pass from here to other territories during some instances. A small patch of gloom easily becoming a storm in Abyssalia, Ensanjica, or Senejol over time. That Butterfly Effect so to speak, where tornadoes can begin to exist from the slight touch of a breeze elsewhere, gathering from the outer lands to build through the Borders, the Regions or Continents to become its final wrath in the Realms themselves.

The King was paying a visit to the Pooling Grounds, his Kingdom's outskirts, watching with trained eyes the mammalian creatures as they drift easily to speed under him, called upon and lured by his force, just beneath the surface of the sea he was hovering above of. It made him smile. These 'outer lands' held a peculiar appeal. With resources still unspoilt, the territories vast, mostly empty and left to nature's own devices. It was where those seeking to find their way into the triad of magickal Realms landed and earned their keep, only allowed to cross into the inner territories after such conditions were met. It was a place far from the reach of corruption, still fertile, still with its own aspect of raw hostility in tact. Although pretty much all of the Kingdom appeared to be a wilderness, the buildings and legends sprouting from the cover of ancient trees and vegetation to tower over their little slice of world, yet it was only here in the Pooling Grounds that there was still more left to behold, the rolling hills before his very eyes still far from being highly cultivated or altered. It had kept its own charm.

He liked it here for obvious reasons. He loved it with all its drama, but, beyond that, it was where he could be left unacknowledged and anonymous, free to go about his day. Even if it was just one day. Also because there was honesty, a serene sense of clarity here. It allowed for him to once again find who he really was and not by how others expected him to be...

The Lord of the Realms slowed himself to a drift, approaching the Pooling Grounds' natural shoreline with an almost reverent silence. He stopped one moment, looking ahead of himself, the first known landmark coming into view before he broke from the nuances of a hover to cross its fair sands in flight...

* * *

 _[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_  
_Pooling Grounds' Lone Tomb_  
_Location: Outside of the Denizens' Borders_

_"...a rather lovely section found in the Pooling Grounds where a concentration of water has gathered into over time. Besides its pools, the location is also known for the Lone Tomb in the area which bears no markers or carvings, staying unidentified and piquing the interest of many scholars for years._

_It was believed to be that of a knight although this is yet to be proven as the Royal Guards own no such document to confirm the lore. Other rumours say it might have been the tomb of a mage due to the fact that the ground remains indestructible despite all the battles that's occured here, the damage from these confrontations deflected by some form of enchanted protection. The Magick Council bears no such records of this phenomenon however..." ]]_

The King landed, retracting his wings, the skin of his back parting its strong muscles to allow them to wither within and shrink, feathers falling off as the massive appendages all but shortened and stored themselves within, the skin overlapping and healing after. Something peculiar. People most certainly think it was by some magic how he does this; what they don't know was that every time he releases his wings in battle, he had to grow them out again, every fiber up to the last feather sprouted anew. When the wing was damaged in any way, he had to shed them in pairs, and it was a most painstaking and, yes, painful thing, taking up to five days total to regrow both. He sighed. The price of being given this body at birth.

The pools around the Lone Tomb were now full of water, murmuring and rippling with its rhythmic undercurrents, breaking into tiny streams which returned to sea. The few surrounding trees speckled the surface with leaves, some young, some old with their twisted, gnarled trunks like the wrinkled skin of the aged of their denizens. They share a similarity - their elders and these trees. Both have stood the test of time and in their way had taken on knowledge which they've passed on both in silence and in voice. Very much like the stories that have been handed down with traditions and ceremonies across these territories...

"How long has it been old friend?" asked the King after taking the usual look around. He had found his way up and walked over to where the Lone Tomb lay heavy upon a flattened platform, skipping over rocks and boulders until he landed safely upon the higher ground.

Lord Claudius lay a hand on the sloping lid of the sarcophagus, trying to clear the grime that had accumulated there, gently sweeping some of the dead leaves aside. He knew of the story here, but the centuries past had once more smoothed the stone and removed the tale, leaving not a mark.

"You know of the person in there, Sire?" a voice asked beyond and it rather startled him before the 'presence' made itself known. He knew the other. He'd entrusted one of his factions to him after all.

Katsu was the Halfling of a missing twin, the two having been separated by some unfair twist of fate. Can the Realms be really so subtly cruel? It had a way of tearing families apart, ripping them from each other's embrace when they should have stayed closer in its peace.

The King looked and nodded in understanding. This was not the Realms' fault. This was simply life. And living. He responded, "An old friend.

"Are you haunting this place by any chance, Master Bosser?" he next asked, hand falling off from the surface of the sarcophagus to rest by his side.

The other shook his head, seeming to shrink behind the shadows cast nearby, shunning the light. The King sighed. It appears he would not be getting much of a conversation but he pushed it somehow, eyes briefly catching sight of the rune markings upon that naked arm before the other stole it away, tucking it into his clothes, behind the curtain of his cloak.

"Then are we testing those that came from beyond?" the Lord followed to which the other only nodded. Silence. The King smiled.

"There is a Tournament that would be happening in the Borders."

"I have heard of it, your Highness."

"Will you be participating?" the King's brows raised in question before the entire expression changed when the other moved to nod once more. "That's good to know then. I'd like to see you battle at least once."

His arms slowly rose to glide across his chest and rest there in a cross, the Lord looking around to admire the sanctity and the beauty of the place. Indeed there are settings all over the Kingdom that have been made unplanned except by the sheer imagination and creativity of nature, yet they become even more beautiful than the most priced and the most elegant garden arrangements in any of his royal homes. No wonder his Queen at times banked upon 'improving' them only by the slightest, planting her lovely blooms where there already were several but leaving the rest untouched.

"It would not be so wise for the King to be this far away from home," said the Halfling suddenly, looking up at him. "Did you run away from the guards again, your Majesty?"

This caught the Lord unaware, breaking from his reverie only to meet the concern with a slight incline of his head. A heart-warming gesture coming from most of his men who always had his best interest in mind.

The King had to assure them many times though that somehow he just needed this form of escape, "I shan't be long, Master Bosser. I'll be back before you know it.

"I just have somewhere I need to be today," he said with an expression which usually meant his destination was one for sentimental reasons, most certainly that which can pull such memories from him, and so he needed the time alone.

The Monster Base Head knew exactly what he was gaining at although he did not say exactly what it was. This he could understand. There were several instances he too would wander the Realms aimlessly looking for what he'd lost, or for the reason why he had lost it. He watched their King and waited in silence, only to do as he always did and concede.

"I did not find you here," he turned his back to him, the prospect of the nearby shade and darkness a comfort for thought. There was a cave he found close by, and he wanted to explore it immediately.

The King grimaced after him, only to break into another smile, eyes returning to look at the grave beside him. He considered calling some of the artisans from the Isern Turris to once again etch the story upon the surface, but then time will once again prevail upon it won't it not? On one hand, he already knew its narration by heart.

Perhaps it was better left alone as the original intention for it had been...

* * *

 _[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_  
_Pooling Grounds' Begotten_  
_Location: Outside of the Denizens' Borders_

_"...the most amusing feature of this location are the structures, with its several-layered constructions rising to unusual and highly irregular heights. They say that the Gunnery was responsible for this feat. Some said otherwise. No matter really, as Begotten often serves as a good stop to refuel or re-stock on necessities on the way to and from around the Pooling Grounds. A Warning: it's territories may be a bit more hostile at times with the heat and unexpected sandstorms..." ]]_

Begotten was not at all a wasteland. It was a moving territory of vast plains overgrown with parched grass clumps that never really grew green except during the Spring, where even small trees would sprout alongside tiny wildflowers, but only to wither away against the heat as the lean months come to pass. It is a desert of roaring canyons with megalith stones the sentries of the area, looking down upon the dryness, waiting to be kissed by fallen rain. It is not a wasteland, but it is mostly harsh, though apparently no place was even hostile enough to discourage those who would like to find their home...

He soared above the sand dunes and rising rock formations, wings steady as he flew high above a storm, catching but the tiniest of glimpses the men and women scurrying about like ants beneath, heavily cloaked and protected, some hurriedly tying their makeshift tents down, weighing the corners against the approaching mayhem, closing the doors of their temporary shelters. The stacked buildings nearby meanwhile were more accustomed to the riles of the location and were better prepared, the windows immediately shutting close and tight, its entrances bolted. Though they swayed slightly every now and then, creaking and bending at the onslaught, they would only stand again, as bamboo withstood the strongest of winds.

The King flew higher, the turbulence surrounding the area gaining speed and beginning to carry debris with the sands. He took a moment to watch herders and ranchers usher their flocks into the cattle pens with a similar haste, closing the gates behind them, the sound of the latches dropping shut drowned by the howl of the winds as they beat down the sides of the barns. Nature was always most fickle here yet, for those who have made their home in the Pooling Grounds, it was just another normal moment in time. They will live through it as they should and move on. He was satisfied.

Folding his wings in, the Lord of the Realms cushioned himself gently, then with one strong clap soared upwards like a hawk, only to then span a distance in one impressive dive. His eyes looked ahead, at the vast space before him, but noting a few explosions East of where he was.

This was most peculiar.

There was a raging sand storm but it appears there was a fight going on alongside it. Or merely a Gunner in practice as the King hurried in to find one of his most trusted Men, Chalice Roan Averque, busy honing his skills...

The other Trinity stood on top of a natural plateau as the storm spun like a tornado about, trapping him in a chamber with the fog-like haze of sand billowing inward, making things less visible by the minute. His clothes were blown, the long tail of his coat whipping as he took a waiting stance, feet steady, eyes squinting in search of something, hands at the ready. Not a faint trace of fear. The King watched from above the chaos, waiting in the same way.

The Gunner suddenly reacted-

When he found his target, he immediately slashed his hand before him as if he was meaning to slice the air with it and did, but instead of a blade, a gun held its place. Then came a sudden blast as the sound of firing mingled with the roar of his surroundings, merged with the dust. A bullet flew in a curve from the Quicksilver's barrel and into the fray, disappearing inside the mass and appearing not to actually be on point with any target but then, as expected thanks to the accuracy of the other's skills, collided with a boulder. It instantly exploded to powder to join the rest of the natural commotion.

So he was actually making use of the loose stones the storm was pushing down from the sides of these encircling cliffs and overhanging, turning them into impromptu targets. The King belatedly realized this was one of Begotten's many canyons he'd followed the explosions to, Chalice amidst the soaring rock faces repeating his shots, firing more successive bullets to curve and hit separate targets, exploding them into bits and pieces to mix with the vortex wrapping him, the drilling ammunition working wonders to counter even this harsh a condition. The royal watcher smiled. It appears he's caught him at such a vigorous moment. It made him want to join in.

The Gunner steadied himself as the storm reached its peak, mad winds lashing out and appearing to want to cave the canyon in around him, the flat rock beneath his feet shuddering. There was a particularly large boulder above which was coming loose, the small pebbles crushed around its base dropping into the mass, only to be tossed aside by the sheer force of the sand storm. It was getting harder to see. The King was barely able to now, holding his breath and squinting.

Then it happened.

Chalice was quick on his feet. Before he was crushed by the boulder, before the impending doom flattened upon him, he fired once, twice, the bullets curving as he slashed his guns. These were the newest exploding sort of ballistics he's been working on and was intending to test out. The storm was the perfect opportunity...or not...

The King spread his wings and the feathers there hardened to become blades. With one clap he sent them spearing through the air, breaking past the sandy walls of this storm to pierce the interior of the cage where the Gunner purposely trapped himself. The projectiles met the boulder first before the bullets did and shattered it to pieces, the smaller portions of stone and rock falling upon the other who promptly swerved and slid back. His charges exploded, grounding the pieces to fine powder, scattering them to join the swirling sands that were now noticeably slowing down.

The storm was nearing its end. Already, people could be heard from within their hiding places thanking the gods and goddess for letting this usual catastrophe pass without incident. While the Gunner looked up. Chalice narrowed his gem eyes as he straightened himself, his coat still ruffled by the dying gusts, hands up as the gun vanished into its Transit for storage, allowing him to pat the dust off.

The chaos had abated and, for the first time in a while especially during the storm, he was able to sense and 'see' properly who it was that had intercepted his quarry, who it was that had 'stolen his target' needless to mention. He knew someone had been watching, but only now was he able to lower his defenses and suddenly, to make a bow of respect as the other descended, the latter's wings flapping at such force that it was able to blow away what remained of the storm. It cleared the plateau of the aftermath, with much of the sand and dirt swept off, falling to the sides down the waiting gorge below.

"Sire."

"Czar," the Lord of the Realms returned, folding his wings back, letting them drag behind him like a lengthy cape. "Aren't you far away from the Mainland?"

Chalice's dusty countenance broke into a small smile, "I should ask the same of you. Aren't you far from the Palace?"

The expectations had more or less been the same anywhere. If you were the one they called King, you had no business to be here, or elsewhere, without escort or attention. Like he was a prim peacock in need of care. The Lord narrowed his golden eyes at that. He was an able combatant and, mind you, he was very much capable of taking great care of himself even without his court in tow. If only people understood that.

"The Palaces can be quite constricting for me," his Majesty responded honestly, a tint of mild irritation to his voice and overall demeanor, or was that disappointment? "I remember a time when I could still walk around this world without the need to tarry with a security envoy. Such simpler days."

Chalice knew of this. From time to time he did give in to the King's impulses and left him alone after all, even making excuses to other people as to why the Lord could not make an appearance. At times he was the first to assist him in his so-called escapades, the willing accomplice to his Lord's mischief. But as much as he could tolerate it, he also needed to remind this being who he was for the sake of everybody else.

The Gunner spoke, "The King is the embodiment of this entire Kingdom. As such we only want to preserve him."

"The King does not need to be treated like some type of glass," Lord Claudius chuckled in response, waving the notion off, but the humour quickly spiraled into a sigh of exasperation then surrender. He did agree. Since the dawn of the Realms' existence, he has had this burden and he shall continue to carry it for all eternity. The fate of one chosen by the gods and goddesses of this world...

The Lord paused for thought. Though he would apparently not win this argument if he persisted, at least he did find a way to compromise with the Gunner before the other decided to escort him home.

"Just a few hours Czar," he bargained with him. "I'll be back in the Palace. I just needed a break."

The Gunner looked at him, eyes the shade of gemstones delving into his Sire's own golden gaze  
before he tipped his head down, dusting his clothes further. He spoke under the shade of his hat, "I don't suppose you'll ask me to accompany you?"

The King's facial expression was that of wonder first before he realized what the other meant and smiled in quick understanding: "A fair day to you, Czar."

There were no further debates on the matter. Thank gods it was always easy to obtain a mutual agreement between them both, something common among Trinity, the special Class of beings where they both belonged to.

With that the Lord turned a heel, preparing to leave, the other just standing there, shaking his head. Then the King stopped. Only to cast an eye over his shoulder, "Before I forget...my Captain of the Royal Guards has vanished from his duties. If you see him around the Pooling Grounds, can you please point him back?

"He might have lost his way..."

All Chalice could do was nod as his Liege spread those wings once more and, with a single leap up over the edge, took to flight, vanishing just as speedily towards the horizon before he could even be held back...

* * *

 _[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_  
_Pooling Grounds' Ancient Forests_  
_Location: Outside of the Denizens' Borders_

_"...one of the befitting aspects of the Pooling Grounds is its many rugged and untamed ancient forests where a marvel of large, towering trees exist. The locations are most always guarded by some form of traditional magic which prevents harm upon these humbling flora..." ]]_

The King avoided places, having leaned towards more secluded routes, moving under the canopy of larger trees even in the thicker of these Ancient Forests. He wound around the familiar trails but wandered off the normal roads where he knew there would be travelers and traders that even here had their business, straying through thickets and the many copse of ancestral vegetation. Every now and then he would make a stop, as he did now, longer when he'd arrived at this particular clearing held dear to his heart.

His descend had been soundless. The grass here grew like a soft cushion under him that once the King landed, he immediately kicked off his boots and walked barefoot, letting his toes flex against the thickness of the lichen and other smaller plants intermingled to make a natural mattress spread over the rocky earth. He looked up. The sunshine filtered through what small gaps the tall trees allowed, like lights to a stage with the sounds of rustling leaves, the cacophony of birds and other animals providing its only natural music.

The Lord breathed in, stretching, only to collapse upon the living down and idle away. He recalled this spot vaguely, picking through memories. How long has it been since?

'...the winds usually carry the rain...' he always remembered (her) voice like the cool of the Frozen South. It was endless. A vast expanse yet so warm even in its state of snow.  
"...ma..." the King closed his eyes, and with the darkness dreamed of those days.  
...days...

Something again exploded...

With the sudden rush of the forests, the fleeing birds and changing winds, he likewise awoke with a start, sitting up. His fingers had unconsciously twined with the tendrils of those plants around him, the forest always responding to him in this manner at such moments. They let him go gently as he stood up and was curiously searching, quietly sensing as to where the commotion could have started this time. Certainly it was not Chalice's doing.

Without realizing he had hovered to the edge where the trees of the clearing ended, lining an overhanging as their roots plunged into massive, rolling coils that broke through the toughest earth below. There it went again, a deafening blast.

The King pacified an ancient birch, leaning a hand and forehead to it, closing his eyes to whisper an old tongue to silence the qualm. Then sighed again as more explosions followed, a long line of them in fact that made him flinch as they cut the air, making this part of the world restless. He frowned.

The King hovered back to where he'd slumbered and found his boots, hastily lacing up with apologies to the vines that had taken a liking to them. He flexed and released another pair of wings to aid him in hovering, to investigate these goings-on further, leaving the comforts of that spot, much reluctantly at that.

He located the source of the bothersome noise, only to pause, suddenly drifting to hide behind one of the largest trees that rose reaching up above the rest. The Lord stayed concealed against its mangled trunk, taking a quiet glance from behind the twining vines.

Who was this? Beyond him he could see battle, the surroundings a testament to what had been happening or what had already happened. There was destruction. Such a waste. A large portion of the forest had been cleared, some trees nearby bowed to the ground under the punishing presence of power. Isn't that the monkey, Axel, and with him, who was this? A face he had not seen before. It must be a fledgling then?

The Pooling Grounds was known as one of the Gateways of the Trinity Realms. Its overall area was separated into two territories: the hostile Outer Ring and outskirts as the Testing Grounds, and the Inner, more developed Centre, a location for one of the Realms' Academies. The people known to them as 'Crossers' or those who have come from other places to join them in the Realms, often had two options to take if they want to get into the bigger of the Kingdom's maps.

One was to be tested as a combatant for those who already have the capacity and earn themselves work; the other, for the inexperienced, to learn the art and craft of his domain through studies.

Either way, the core of the matter stays the same. These people are being tested to become denizens whom would be assimilated into the many factions of the Kingdom. Before they reach the Borders, they needed to be skilled or to build enough skill. That's how the entirety of his domain worked and still continued to work after all this time...

Axel had been among the many Crossers who'd found their way into the Kingdom, eventually finding their home here after many years. He was the reincarnation of a number of individuals the King knew about: Xanos, Khano, Deveras...beings whom at some point in time had raised arms to battle or do battle with him. They no longer existed at this moment, the Lord outliving them naturally, or rather they still did, just in Axel's mind as loose memories that perhaps haunted him during certain hours. He was a reincarnation of them.

The Lord looked on.

It appears there had been a test and that had already ended, evident enough as the monkey went over to discuss some things with the fallen testee, handing him what was obviously a Healing Potion. Fitting gesture, although as the Lord surveyed the area once more, his heart sank. He did not like how at times locations needed to be sacrificed for the sake of pitting strengths. Didn't they have enough arenas for this?

The King grumbled under his breath, crossing his arms, leaning back against the tree. He could hear Axel's voice, providing some worthy advice to the fledgling as the latter rested, but above that he could hear nature around him rustling, making him cuss lowly, "By the god Vunacd!"

The Lord was about to come out of hiding, finding the need to tell them a piece of his mind, except he paused just as he was about to and stopped, concealing his presence again when he saw Axel bend a knee to a larger tree behind him, prompting his companion to do the same.

"EtAh obehu.rEldeu foea l"aea tIhOn^sietUh nAgEre"u..." it was the beginning of a prayer. The King knew those words by heart having spent many a day in the Legion churches listening to the litanies of it.

That was when he recalled how Axel was a devotee of Cgeac, though he also had allegiance to the other deities of the Kingdom. Obviously by this gesture, he respected them all. The King observed how the monkey reincarnate was asking forgiveness to the god of the forests this time, which made him happy somewhat.

So he did take into consideration where he had battled, and sought to be forgiven for any transgression he might have done in the process.

He let the prayer rise around the forest, the inter-responding hum and chanting enveloping the area. He could feel the winds shifting to a calmer state, far from the earlier anarchy that pierced it in haste. These ancient magnificence which were the ancestral trees became pacified. The Lord did not plan to come into contact anymore. It appeared he was no longer needed...

As the other was preoccupied, teaching the fledgling the values of a denizen by leading him through the Psalters, the King quietly turned away. He vanished back into the forests, nothing but the little signs of his presence - a feather here, another over there - left in his flight...


	9. Sire II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly needed to rewrite these stories. I'm not happy with the first outcome. It's annoying me.
> 
> I find writing originals more painful than writing fanfiction somehow. D:

_[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_    
_Location: Denizens' Borders_    
_"...the second inner dimension which connects the Pooling Grounds to the Regions, and the obvious separation of the two, is known as the Denizens' Borders. Majority of the travelers that peruse through here get their first true taste of the Realmian life from its major towns and cities, its small villages and many rustic sights. It is also where most fall in love with the concept of the Trinity Realms that push them to venture further and onward into either Abyssalia, Ensanjica or Senejol..." ]]_

When one traveled like he did, they should feel it, this literal divide which separated the mythical places of the Kingdom, the separation that marked one continent from the next. As their body would be pushed past a force of extraordinary thickness, solid like stone, but much harder to break. It was the firmament the gods of the past decreed. Those not worthy could never pass and infect the Realms with their greed as others from unknown worlds tried doing long ago...

Flying with speeds immeasurable, the King broke through the said barrier like some spinning arrow, the separation which marked the distinction between these territories, for the briefest of moments, holding on before it allowed him to permeate, a solid whole piercing and breaking the layer, stretching its reach forward up to a certain degree before it let go, returning to its original state.

He just transcended from the Pooling Grounds to the Borders, hovering with his wings outstretched, casting a look back to see how far it was he had gone.

He'd crossed the massive expanse of ocean. He could not see it but behind him far off should be the last location he could hope to pass from the outskirts of their Kingdom to here. It was known as Lumos Town, founded by knights and named after one of the Trinity Realms' lost spells. It stood precariously on the cliffs, its oriental architecture a sight to behold, the roof and spires rising to occupy the heavenly territories of the town. It stands framed by long lines of waterfalls front and around, dropping into the angry waves of the Ocean below.

He would have wanted to linger there, to catch up with old friends and retired acquaintances, except that he's already decided where exactly he wanted to wander off to this time and intends to be there before the evening.

The King looked onward.

He could see the shorelines of the Borders with its lazy water fleets adrift, the sea winds whipping at him with a certain cool. He closed his eyes briefly. Looks like the storm has followed him here, the way the breeze spoke, assaulting the rest of his senses to send a shiver from his toes to the crown of his head...

The King made true of his promise. As he flew over the Borders, he shunned any and all presence which may stop him along his way. Although he could not help but spot a few familiar individuals as he drifted idly above everyone, wondering if today was a day when people were out, just as he was, to enjoy themselves before that said storm he felt rolled in.

For example, earlier, as he was high above the whimsical exteriors of the café named Chaos, he spotted in the crowd a certain beauty with flowers literally growing in her hair. She was known as Chrysanthemum Isern, the Fighting Muse, in a bright dress enjoying her tea and cake. She was very easy to pinpoint in the crowd, managing to get his attention no matter the collective of appearances, a spot of light by comparison to the otherwise dulled-up surroundings thanks to the ushering depression of the rainy season.

Then pushing forward, as he let his eyes survey the commerce island of Mimique, he saw a duo that needs no further introduction to remembrance. The Master Trader herself, Hanji Aradia Williams, and the demon he has not fully met, Varon Lovat of the Nine, taking strides on the boardwalk. The trader was purposely blithe, more like hyperactive in a sense, pushing her glasses up as she leaned in and 'discussed' some matters with much enthusiasm, all while her companion stood there simply nodding at her, a stiff board in some manner of exasperation though for some reason stayed listening to her debates.

It was not abnormal to see his state of unusual. Horns, gray skin, even wings and multiple appendages was considered common in his Kingdom, merely this Hell Lord, Varon, was a being out of place wearing a much too formal attire by comparison to the location. The King chuckled to himself. The demon should honestly build a more appropriate view towards such escapades.

He could not imagine himself wearing a coat and tie boarding a ship of trade, yet, if it was the other's way of tackling the affair, "Good luck to HanHan" was all he could say...

On the road which cuts through the rolling hills of Ninther, he saw a little band. Tsutsuji Maro was it, if he remembered the name properly, and of course there was the mage, Takuna Melancholy. The two were on board a wagon pulled by a massive Elk headed perhaps to the nearest town, the roguish female just plopped onto the stack of hay like so, while the other threw a death of sparkles as they rolled by the tumbling scenery, giggling and probably humming a song as he watched the tiny explosions he'd left behind.

Was Shartee nearby, the King pondered, that Palace he had awarded the mage which was perched on the back of a Hardshelled Turtle? It probably was, as the decorated mage never traveled without it through the maps, always bringing his fanfare along, beyond and above his already normally flamboyant dress. He was always mistaken to be a girl, perhaps because he looked far too pretty to be male. The Lord of the Realms released a long-held sigh. Let it not be said he ran a boring court. Everyone in it was a being of interest and they happened to amuse him so...

"The gods..." the King suddenly stared over his shoulder, hair whipping as a gust of wind blasted full force at him, carrying the salt of the ocean and its tiny, insignificant debris. He raised his arms to shield his face, before making a turn and drifting, turning his gaze upwards.

He was staring at a large group of somber gray clouds which, unexpectedly, had managed to sneak up on him in his contemplation. The wisps glowed, sparked, and with it, suddenly, a streak of lightning fell to earth.

The denizens below looked up as the thunder boomed following the flash of light, only that the figure both Takuna and Tsutsuji swore to have seen there was already gone, making the said presence a simple figment.

They blinked. More lightning. Then the rain fell next...

* * *

_[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_    
_Realm Name: Abyssalia_    
_"...created out of a love beyond death itself. This is Abyssalia. The Kingdom beyond sky and sea, where turmoil is a norm and adventure awaits those brave enough to tame its wild lands. The crowning jewel of the three Realms of the Kingdom, it bears beauty a league above the rest of its sisters and holds a rich set of landscapes, resources as well as wilder plains..." ]]_

He did not actually expect to do that. To avoid discovery, the King immediately opened a spell circle neath his heels, sinking into its intricate weave just as familiar eyes could have caught sight of his presence.

He breathed a sigh of relief, a hand on his chest, feeling the loud beating of his heart, making it slow to a calm. He needed to settle the excitement that suddenly hit him, looking around for both distraction and familiarity, catching his breath.

The storm appeared to have not reached the Realm of Abyssalia yet. The only visible evidence of it beginning to form being the massive clouds along the horizon where the King had shot out of, breaking the magical divide yet again.

His feelings relaxed, he decided to fly ahead of the storm before it stopped him. But where exactly was he? Before him were more of those endless forests his Kingdom was known for, taller mountains and the breathtaking scenery rolling to mesh one land formation with another, stitching it to make a finer tapestry together with the vast skies and even vaster plains.

The King smiled, knowing /exactly/ where he was. He ended up landing above the Inner Island. He knew so because as a child he roamed these parts, playing hide-and-go-seek with one of his fathers...

"Daddy! Hurry!"

The voice broke the gentle murmurings of the forests, tenderly, like a bare whisper reaching his ears. This made the Lord pause as he spied 'them' below, walking the road to gods-know-where surely from the Crystalline Palace he knew to be secretly kept up these mountains.

He knew because he gave 'him' that palace, though it had been ages since he's been there last, ages in fact that he had seen that old friend's face.

"I'm there. Walk slowly."

"But the rain's coming! Daddy! Hurry!"

Her name was Satellizer Bridget if his memories serve him right, and she gave the other a pout, dusting her skirts, but looked back at the older male with loving eyes.

He was Hayato Takaryuga, a day-walker, his former Royal High Knight Captain and predecessor to the current Captain Kuroi Kenshi. He had been a good friend in the past, though at the moment they had not even had the chance to share a spot of tea, or talk.

One day the latter had disappeared only to come back a different being he has not even had the chance to meet again. The last the Lord heard was that he suffered a lot, lost his only daughter, and had painful separation issues with a wife and estranged son that are not worth mentioning in history.

This Bridget was his adopted offspring. She was the current light of his life. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had definitely enlightened the darkened day-walker's heart. She made him smile, and was a lovely addition to ease the gloom of his household.

The King was somehow tempted to say hello, except it would be a crime to break the moment, seeing how she'd taken her father's arm to walk beside him, the vampire reaching a hand to pet her on the head. Lord Claudius simply smiled. He left them alone instead, drifting the other way before he was discovered again.

* * *

Abyssalia's first map was easy to traverse. Easy because of all the Realms it was the one he was most certainly quite familiar with. This was where he grew up, where he was groomed, where he spent the days realizing his parents' vision of how they wanted this world to become.

At times, the Lord did not appreciate being the way he is. But when his existence had now been measured by the way his people loved him, how they respected him, and how he loved them all in return, it was simply too difficult to part with his responsibilities. No matter how tired he can become of them, his life already a series of indefinite years. How old was he? He was ageless. And would continue to walk this earth as long as it existed...

He'd drifted farther.

The King could see a massive lake the same shade as the cherry blossoms before him, its banks lined with Sakura trees in fact, the multiple groves and groups of them spread like a cover all across the land.

This was Cherry Lake. So he had now reached Inner Orienta, just above the Frozen South and East of the Autumn Lands. Had he teleported?

He hovered briefly above Kaimora, one of the more touristy spots of the Realms where it looked as if Spring had forever found its home. The cherry blossoms never ceased to fall around here, everything including the denizens and residents taking on this flower's shade of gaiety.

He recalled having had a little sojourn here once or twice with the Queen, but that date had been cruelly interfered with. Long story, though he wondered if she'd go again if he asked her, perhaps as a gift for another year of marital bliss and the many blessing of children?

Speaking of children...the King had quietly perched atop a high torrii, one which marked the outskirts of the town heading north and out, to look down upon a group of robe-clad students, massive ribbons under the collar of their uniforms in varying shades marking the year level they were already on.

His gold eyes watched the Pre-Formatory students fall in line, obediently behind a veiled figure which should be a Cardinal based on the design of the crosses stitched into her gloves. A field trip from the looks of it - the Sire almost forgot there was a Legion Academy a distance northwest from here.

Calu, his nephew, was three and in Nursery. He was a precocious little sprite who just recently rediscovered his mother whom ironically was a demoness from the Nine Circles, while he was the Kingdom's Clergy, the highest in the order of the Holies and like his late father was a destroyer of Hell's Realms.

"It was most gracious of you to have visited us," the Lord heard someone say. From a nearby establishment, a figure of an old man appeared to speak with the veiled teacher.

"It was no trouble. I hope the children behaved themselves."

"Oh they did!" beamed the old man with a wide smile. "These youngsters are a pleasant company to my artisans."

_'He could just be saying that to get on the Faction's good side,'_ thought the King with a frown on his face, falling unto his back to rest his head against his arms, staring up again.

As part of their curriculum after all, the Legion Church took its students to see how things are in towns like this. These trips to observe what life is like across the Realms usually made use of the many businesses in the Kingdom, not even mere rumors how people see the activity as mere trade in a sense. The usual exchange of goods or services for monetary gain.

Then again he could also be a bit bias and judgmental, not quite perfect to not let such things cross his mind. He thought it to be helpful, then again who knows what else the businesses do to leech more out of the rich faction that had been his cousin's and now his nephew's...

A Sky Whale curiously passed by just as he was amidst his thinking, that creature's back certainly teeming, quite literally, with cherry trees. The reason as to how it was able to shower even more petals down here, each steady stride and dive the creature makes in the air causing even entire blooms to fall off their branches.

One petal settled upon the King's forehead. He heaved and moved his lips to promptly blow it away, smiling to see it swirl then slide down. All the while he could hear the same old man speaking, "Blessed be Legion, my kind lady."

The King had a sudden recollection at the mention of the Faction, clear as the horizon. Something suddenly nagged him even as he briefly enjoyed the hustle and bustle of the busy town, eyeing the moving train of students as they shuffled through without breaking formation, piling onward with their parasols. They were preparing for rain, the gloom already building where he had been earlier.

Legion...

Legion meant Saints. Legion meant the Clergy. The Clergy who had once been that person, his cousin, Rochis Arthforth. Wasn't his Palace here nearby? The Lord sat up. When was the last time he had visited the old location since the other died? He took off again.

"See you later Calu..."

Heading north and beyond, the King's wings took a steady beat, but faster and faster as he weaved above the streets, over the arcane bridges, the strings of outdoor lanterns and then over a small wall which was actually the side of a mountain.

From there he only had to bolt a short distance before reaching a large patch of land, gleaming with the same color as the rest of the many Lake Towns similar to Kaimora. Except it had a majestic rival.

Upon the hills rose the Palace, a series of Asian-inspired constructs complete with magnificent gardens.

Rochis did like fountains and several of these could be found scattered around his home, surrounded by the blooming trees and arbors, the herbal plants and the several curious flora that the late Clergy himself took specimens of from other Realms.

He liked to tend to these in his spare time. He loved to sit and have tea under the branches of the peaches he himself planted. Despite the extravagance and power of the Holy Seal, the title of Saint, his cousin was a simple man. He loved the simpler things and more or less enjoyed only this slight luxury.

The Lord landed. He immediately drew his wings back into his body as a manner of habit, venturing into the household alone. Was he alone? The place seemed so quiet, though of course he knew there were plenty of caretakers around, Calu still calling this Palace home alongside his brother Kline, sleeping here from time to time.

He walked through the corridors in silence, a reverence wrapping his mind as he stepped onto the halls, clean and well-maintained, the chandeliers sparkling with their crystals.

There was even that table. It was the one facing the doors which opened to the largest of the gardens. It was where he used to sit, visiting his cousin when he was still alive, whenever he sought advice or was needing an ear to confess his concerns to. The tea things were left in their original arrangement, untouched, polished.

These were his favorite cups, delicately hand-painted. They had bought these from a potter in Orienta, the last set gifted by a man whom Rochis had taken a liking to though died in his sleep ahead of them both. Only for the late Clergy to die ahead of the King next. 

_'Care to join me?'_ It was easy to imagine him being there, his straight-backed form smiling at him, a gloved hand gesturing towards the opposite seat. The King had a burning nostalgia as he eased his form over to take it, exercising manners as he took the cup and raised it in a little toast, Rochis on the other end of the table joining him. He would often ask, _'So what has been troubling you?'_

"...a lot..." was what he always answered him before they began their conversation.

The vision vanished. The truth was, Rochis was no longer here. He could feel it in the empty walls, the silent spaces, the little alcoves where he made his prayers. The King let the empty cup down upon its saucer, allowing but a tender clink as he sighed, sitting back. It had not been a year yet has it? He looked around, reminiscing. If only there had been enough time then...

The doors from an adjoining area creaked open, feet shuffling in, a tired body dragging several cleaning materials and at least three mops into the room. He rolled up his sleeves, flexing tired shoulders, having done picking after toys and cleaning the mess left by the Clergy's many pets that ran inside the Palace.

At least this room was the easiest to- he halted mid-stride, face distorting to a grimace as he approached that table. He was a perfectionist, and he was disappointed to notice a tea cup had been disrupted, the position of its gold-tipped handle pointing the wrong way.

The Caretaker shook his head, "Odd. I knew I set them all properly yesterday."

He put his gloves on then carefully with a soft towel, lifted the most cherished piece and wiped its face as if an evident smudge was disobeying him. This was his Master's favorite set. As such he handled it with the best of care. Finally, when the task seemed satisfactory, he put the tea cup down into the correct angle, mind automatically measuring the distance, moving the saucer as well as the other pieces to their correct spots.

He was curious. He swore he'd never usually leave this room in such a disarray, and the young masters never at all enter here for fear of memories.

"I guess my Late Master was here having tea with the King?" the Caretaker made the jest as he stood back, admiring his work and giving himself a personal mental pat of approval, only to notice something from the corner of his eyes. "What's this?"

He had to bend a knee, reaching a hand under the table to get it off the floor. He fingered the lone yet lovely white feather, wondering what and how it could have gotten under the King's favorite seat in the first place...

* * *

_[[ From the Trinity Realms' writings:_    
_Abyssalia's Flum Rise Village_    
_Location: Arcanta, Abyssalia_    
_"...a quiet little fisherman's village which sometimes serves as an impromptu port for Merchant Trader boats especially when there is a cargo that needs to be transported in the hush. Flum Rise, although small, is a very bankable location. Fishermen here are known to have vast knowledge not only of the Abyssalian seas but the numerous expensive fishes and delicacies that can be cooked using them..." ]]_

Visiting the Arthforth Palace was perhaps a bad idea, the King considered as he floated rather aimlessly through the Realm. The trip somehow made him depressed, feeling a sudden gush of nostalgia, missing this one person who was like a brother to him. He was his confidant. He was his best friend. Until now, no one has and will be able to take his place.

The rocky formations broke through the mist. Belatedly had he realized how he was now looking at spiraling isles, cluttering this unusual bay, a small port beyond and houses seemingly built against the treacherous mass of cliffs. Small fishing boats, nets spread and drying against the wind, individuals with cone-shaped straw hats mending them and picking out the remains of fish and bony corals.

Unconsciously, his thoughts had brought him somewhere the Orienta region to a place he once loved to dive for pearls in his youth. Its rich waters he could still recall and up to now they still teem of fish. Small a village it may be, it was not at all poor, the fishermen here contented. He sighed.

The waters were calm as a placid lake, the waves lazily making the boats bob along as some of the villagers tended to their pens, their prawn cages. Some took to their lines and hook, casting into the never-ending depths and shallows, knowing they would not come home empty handed.

The King settled upon a taller spire of rock, looking below, spreading his wings to dry out the moisture they'd accumulated in his long flight to somewhere. His shadow cast below, over a boat and its sole occupant and the other man looked up. He tipped his cone hat up to get a better view and indeed was not mistaken.

Tatsuya gave the Lord a homely smile.

* * *

This visit was unexpected. The fisherman rowed his small vessel out to farther waters, where he patiently cast his rod with bait in, just as patiently waiting for the Lord to speak. The King sat dreaming over the waters, a hand stroking the surface as if it was a lullaby calling him to sleep. He sighed again. Tatsuya's brows creased at that.

"That's about the fifth deep sigh I have heard from you since you've arrived, my Lord," said the fisherman with a concerned smile. "Is everything all right in the palaces?"

The Himekuro Clan was a peculiar set of siblings. There were five brothers, four of which were named Tatsuya by their parents out of a lack of imagination or perhaps just mere laziness, one named Murasaki and the only daughter, their sister, named Miew. He'd met them all here, back in the days when there was still time to be easy around tasks concerning the Kingdom, when the gods allowed him to be careless and when his other father, Cyac, and him were not as bitter with each other as they are now.

The Himekuro were a proud race of Selkies, those that looked an awful similar to mermaids but of a gentler demeanor; likewise gifted sirens similar to those who lured men to their deaths underwater.

This Tatsuya that he also called Tats, was one of his closest friends. Someone he often visited as he did now just to chat and find certain company with. Aboard the fisherman's humble boat he was neither King nor Son of the gods and goddess. He could be just himself, Claudius, a drifting soul who also gets run down by his daily schedule, his grinding work which, in a sense was similar to the other's toils.

Tatsuya ran his own household. The King ran the whole Kingdom. Both labored at their tasks to make certain their homes got the better. They wanted what was best.

 

 

"It's fine if you do not wish to tell me, Your Majesty."

They understood each other, sometimes without needing to say anything.

The Lord gave him a faint yet sad smile in return. He did not know what to say or tell. Merely this, as he continued to dip his hand down into the waters, watching the larger monster fishes swim by beneath. There were no cushions aboard this boat, but somehow, the slow drift was a better bed to a tired heart than the ones the King had at home. He sighed, plopped against newly mended nets. He liked the smell of the ocean. He loved looking at the far and dangerous bay of Flum Rise, it's ports not meant for the gigantic galleons of the Ocean Armada but for the more reclusive crafts and their clandestine cargo.

"I'm tired."

Tatsuya looked at him, settling the rod down against the side of the boat so he could relax his grip, clipping the thing between his legs. "Aren't you always Sire?

"Are you thinking of returning to the Citadelia then?"

Claudius shook his head, sighing again and closing his eyes into a relax. Above them the storm clouds gathered, threatening a downpour as the waves began to toss, restless from the coming winds. And it did rain, the storm like a heavy shroud upon this part of Abyssalia drenching everything, man or monster.

He secured his boat onto one of the quays some hour later, taking the stone road up to one of their huts and the common cliff-house they'd built above the angry waters. He was greeted by his brother, another Tatsuya, as he took off his wet cloak and hat, walking barefoot to sit in front the fireplace. They were the only two home today, the rest of their siblings gone to visit their sister. She had married a man from the Secret Faction, an assassin named Evan Fayer. She had her own palace set upon an Oasis and had servants at her beck and call. The factions were always most generous with their members although Tatsuya thought it to be an oddity. How a Selkie would prefer dry and arid land instead of their usual habitat.

The things one could do for love. He shook his head clear of raindrops, patting some of the moist out of his clothes. His brother handed him a towel to dry off and a tray with warm soup. He'd left a small net of fish outside the door and the other Tatsuya went to gut and fillet them under the pouring rain.

"Was that Lord Claudius you were talking to earlier?" he asked.  
The older Tatsuya only nodded, roughing up his dark hair with the soft towel.

"He didn't stay the night? It's storming out here," the younger one said, clipping his poncho shut by the collar, tipping his hat down so the water only drained off and downward. His practiced hands sliced through the fresh catch, nearly missing aim but holding the fish steady as the creature thrashed into death.

"He had someplace to go. I wouldn't worry about him flying under the storm though..."

His brother shrugged at that. "I know, but looks like you're worried about something else," he smiled, throwing a cleaned fish bone down the side of their home, hanging the cut he made by a hook, ready to be cooked.

He was right. Tatsuya worried that the Lord was taking much strain again. The Kingdom was always a stress ever since his friend took the throne. There was no day of real rest for their beloved Sire...

Beyond the village, above the rainforests now and beneath the heavy rainfall he floated, the Lord of the Realms, three pairs of white wings flapped against the menacing storm, it's thunder and lightning splitting the heavens in a concert of light and sound. He somehow did not care. In battle he faced worse than this. In the hands of turmoil and war, there was even worst. He pushed on, never mind if the cold seeped and soaked him through. He headed towards this one place where he wanted to be in most today, its flickering lights bathed by the same torment of weather but not dying, in fact, was blazing, beacons to the darkness of the night.

He was panting when he reached the location, dripping as he looked up at the facade of the Mausoleum, where his emotions threatened him more than the Storm's harshness. He took slow and hesitant strides, up a flight of stairs encased in marble as the entire place was, descending into its subterranean chambers. His mind recalled the design:

_From the Trinity Realms' writings:_    
_Abyssalia's Legion's Hidden Mausoleum_    
_Location: Unknown_    
_"...is the special place in the Kingdom allocated for the Legion Clergies as their final resting place. Since there's only ever been one Clergy to date (the Late Rochis Arthforth), the mausoleum had been left under wraps and is almost a myth among Legionnaires, until the first Clergy's recent death and the parts of its Grimoire of secrets which were scattered within the tomb activated themselves._    
_There are three layers before one could reach the innermost sanctum. The Upper, the Lower Doorway and the Lower Hall of Shu where the catacombs and sarcophagus of Him Who Sleeps remains. The mausoleum is heavily guarded, the Creature Class forever haunting it so none but those allowed may disturb this slumber."_

By the end of each trip, he somehow managed to end up here. Even in the dark he could trace his steps, recall the manner by which the staircases wound themselves down to the lower depths of the grand tomb, to the 'House' which was actually the entrance to the shining hall where he knew the other's body was. The torches were not even necessary as the King made his way towards the doors, looking up into the shadows to see the massive form of a beast and monster some hundred stories tall, the size of a small town. Its red eyes shone under the cloak of shadows, a hiss could be heard then a rattle.

"Easy there Roch. I'm just here to visit like I always do. Would that be all right?" the Lord smiled at the Creature, used to his menace and guile.

It slithered down, causing some manner of quake and tremble, only to disappear into an opening somewhere on the floor where it had now made a nest. Someday when he himself perished, he could imagine his own Dragon guarding the hall where his body lay. And then perhaps in his dying hours his cousin would be there to meet him.

That would be the day. For now...

He walked in through the threshold and felt an immediate warmth rising. He felt the air become infused with it, a holy essence, something which could null no matter what the element. His clothes and hair were dried out in an instant as he stepped further in, whispering prayers. The Hall glowed. It was so hallowed that it shone brighter than day inside. He looked at the etchings on the walls. He once more refreshed his sharp memory with their angles, the way they were chiseled here by the Isern Turris' most formidable smithing hands.

He could not help but feel relief, this kinder atmosphere making his worries less of a burden though the pain was still there. He could still feel his own helplessness as he walked over to the last chamber, golden eyes seeing the intricate carves of angels, the heavens and an Ancient Snake wrapped at the base of the heavy and now immovable coffin.

The King laid a hand on the cover. He's been missing a number of people lately. The body within this one was the being he missed the most. Now at last he felt tired. He felt hungry. He slid to sit at the foot of it but he at the same time felt at ease.  
When a Holy died, their essence forever leaked and spread. Rochis was no different except his essence was warmest, more soothing, embracing.

In contemplation he recalled what he'd done today, knowing well he'd be here a while as the storm battered the rest of the outside world. He remembered that free fall earlier and smiled to imagine.   
If only he could just be as free as that...without these sorrows...  
"We should not at all meet like this," the Lord chuckled at himself, looking beyond to the darker chambers outside the doors of the Hall, wishing he did not feel this way any more but he still did anyway...


	10. Gunner - Part Three

What had me reading up on the subject of the Trinity in general was out of the same feeling I think. That by knowing more about the world in which _he_ lived in, I should come even closer to understanding him better. At least that was a hope I maintained, positive that I never really saw the space between our status in society as a hindrance anymore, rather I was challenged by it.

If only I listened to the advice of my conscience early…

With the Captain still in Gunnery Island, I turned to burning the midnight oil with my curiosity. I never thought Shan was correct when she said there were actually plenty of books and other forms of texts available, most of which were records via the Ensemble Faction, about the Trinity. Their secretive lives were surprisingly well-documented and which included so much fact that I think my mind spun the first time my friend pointed it all to me.

For example, majority of Denizens didn’t know this, but the Iron Chrysanthemum lived on a turtle named Carlos. Literally on a living, breathing, sea-swimming _turtle_.

They called it a Creature Class, which was in every sense, a huge animal of spiritual form, first accompanying a Trinity as the pair of their Soul when they triumph over a process called the Ascension, next materializing to become an actual monster when their Hosts depart.

The one that bore the Fighting Muse around was said to be the latter, a huge tortoise the size of a medium-scaled town, powerful enough to crush a village underfoot if it wanted. Luckily, it was a peaceful resident of the Realms seas and oceans, tarrying the only Female Trinity’s palace in and out of the waters far from the civilizations of the Kingdom. It’s carapace was a thick forest that was difficult to traverse, let alone climb onto, so you can imagine how she never really gets that many visitors.

“They said the King put her there to protect her. There are many who are after her you know,” Shantee said when we talked about these Greats. While Gus was snoring on the couch nearby, having fallen out of interest with our discussion.

“But why protect her?” I’d asked.

Shan only shrugged. “She’s called the Flower of /that/ Tree of Light in some accounts, which betrayed a very important role she plays in the Kingdom, but no one really knows for sure what that said role truly is.

“Whatever it is,” and she inched in like a housewife with gossip. “...it’s something that requires her to be constantly guarded though she’s pretty much capable herself I say.

“She has Protectors even among the Trinity Men. Her retinue included the late Saint Rochis Arthforth, the Weather Beast, and the King himself. Oh. _And_  our Captain Chalice.”

That got my attention. Our Gunnery Head was actually a guardian of some sort for the Realms’ Iron Flower? Was that the reason why he was with her and the Weather Beast too that night long ago?

I pored through the texts with these questions. I read some more under the light of our lamps. Through these writings of prose and poetry, I came to learn other facts about my Captain’s world. I think some of these ideas were overly romanticized but, how can the personal journals of ordinary men and women be disproved?

Like in the Realms Anthology’s Volume One, which included the recounting of a boy named Maco from the village of Zeles. He became friends with one of the sons of the Arthforths, a prominent Trinity line connected to the Royal House. Or that story from a scholar of the Frolt Capital which spoke of the mystery of the King’s lesser though known courtiers.

Then there are the stories about these _Darklings_ whom always seem to be causing trouble everywhere. Not to mention liaisons by them with the Trinity themselves. Are they really rivals of power, the rumours asked, or _bed partners_ to the top of the Hierarchy…?

My Captain’s life was one fraught with danger and intrigue, but it was, to me, such a dazzling place. The more I got to know it, the more it seemed a different world in time altogether.

Still a world I want to be part of anyway because _he_ was _there_ …

* * *

The Rogue Bullets were off early today, dispatched to the Eastern Shores of the Gunnery territory to assist further in our Faction’s aid of the Monster Base. Since reports of rampaging monsters had only increased over the weekend. A change in migratory patterns says the older students.  _Something_  along their path was driving these Beasts to take longer routes, thus causing an unrest due hormones and similar factors. These dragons were in their estrus, we were made aware. They were extremely irritable having not reached their nesting grounds yet to breed for the season.

“Kind of like Shantee when she’s on her period,” joked Gus, which earned him an elbow right into the gut and that hurt for sure.

I laughed, though honestly, I was feeling a little lonely today. The Captain hasn’t really been visible all week. He seemed to be more preoccupied now than ever.

Once, he went to the Island of the High Council to meet with the other Heads of Faction. He was gone three days, only returning one night to immediately leave for Aid duties again. I never saw him come or go. That rather put me in a sour mood...

I knew I shouldn’t be feeling like this. But I was becoming like one of those lonesome females here that were so hopelessly waiting for him to come back. The only difference was that those girls were expressing their longing  _openly_. I never said a thing. I didn’t want my fellow Low Lives to know I was maybe desperate like that too. I didn’t want it to be obvious.

I chose to occupy my time with other things just to distract myself then. “I’m relieved Nuker finally gave us the chip for the Railgun,” and finally got at least one task done.

“He did say we can test fire it from the tower right?” Shantee was very excited, holding unto the small box where the chip was sealed in.

“Yeah- to see if we can use it to scare the Monsters away. Maybe drive them a distance off,” Gus wanted to put it to the test immediately.

We hadn’t really thought of what we wanted to use the Railgun for. But he put in a few tweaks to the original firing programming of our unit and decided to give it the capacity to both do long and short bursts.

We helped create a more versatile design too, kind of still working on the kinks to make it as mobile and maneuverable as possible, maybe make it portable, but we are yet to decide the final outcome.

“I think we can do more than that,” I said, imagining the unit to be easily dismantled to change it into a different sort of gun. That would be awesome. Convertibles had always fascinated me. Our Faction had plenty.

_A dragon roared somewhere._

We were on our merry way up the towers with a sprint in our soles, Gus thinking of the next big project we can tackle. The Shells are doing small bots right now. We already made those three months ahead of them while making our Railgun.

“We’ll try a Mecha next, what do you guys think?”

_More dragons roaring._

This time we paused. We turned. That was way louder than usual; even while so close to our walls, they didn’t make that much of a commotion. What was going on?

“BREACH!”

We suddenly had to duck as the gates of the outpost exploded, huge debris and rock sent flying. Shantee pulled us up the steps when a large part of the wall smashed the landing where we had just been.

A distance off, more portions of that said wall had come crumbling, but now to the tune of panic, screaming and feral snarls as what some of us feared came crashing through our fortification.

We were shocked. We didn’t expect this but a Dragon Horde had gotten into our terrain!

And they looked pissed as hell.

* * *

We got caught in a rampage.

It would have been easier if we were on terra firma but a rather huge dragon of the Horde had crashed its tail onto the entrance way of the tower following that large chunk of the wall, prompting us to climb further upwards Instead. While on the grounds there was utter chaos, taking a while for the seniors to rally everyone to fend off the monsters from utterly destroying more of the area. We are, after all, just students still no matter how talented we saw ourselves to be.

“Let’s get to the other side!”

We three had decided to climb up and go through the tower to escape. But it was apparent that we had more problems than we originally thought.

Shantee had pointed at a small flock of these agitated beasties, basically, lesser dragons, descending upon us. Even within the tower, they were in our way!

“Guns!”

We had no choice. Whipping out our own armament, we had to fight our way past them, combining punches, kicks and gunfire even as we watched our steps. One wrong move and it was either a very high fall to the broken earth below or straight into the jaws of these monsters. We admittedly had to improvise most of the time with what we had.

“Mother Dragon!” Gus had managed as he walloped one of the beasties by its temple with the butt of his gun, a fatal hit that he followed after with shots, the deafening sound of discharge echoing within the tower's confines.

Well _shit_.

Besides the rampaging males, here came the female of the Horde now, its Alpha, bursting past the already fallen wall. I briefly saw some people getting torched by its flaming breath, some snapped up and devoured alive. It reminded me so much of that day I was in peril from the same creatures in Begotten. Some of the children there were never as lucky as I was. They didn't survive. It was a trauma to see.

This has got to stop!

“Makia!”

Before I knew it, I’d leapt up over one of the dracs that tried to bite my gut, slamming its head to the floor with my full weight. But my feet was taking a different direction from what we originally aimed. I was headed to the top of the tower instead.

“Makia! Where are you going!?”

I had no time to spare. “The Mother Dragon! We need to take it down before it gets everyone killed!”

There went its ear-splitting roar. As the flock here continued their attempts at eating us. As we fought hard to stay alive in this constricted hell of a space. As we saw our fellow Gunnies doing the same outside.

My two friends seem to get the idea. They knew we had to do something and we had a good shot-

“We can use the Railgun!”

* * *

I hoped somebody had already sent a distress message to our Captain and his Rogue Bullets, relieved I was for the mean time that Nuker was around with the other teachers and helping. They and the seniors were facing the menace of the Horde bravely while it looked like the wounded were being evacuated now.

We still had a number of dead however and I gritted my teeth at that. This waste of lives. Could we have avoided it?

Gunfire was plenty. Some of the Mecha had now launched from the bays to stop the particularly large bulls of the Horde. Machine versus monster as we continued up the flight. Our target was clear, detonating grenades into the open mouths of the dracs that hindered our way, skidding to evade the explosions one side to continue upwards via another passage.

“We just need to cripple the bitch right?” Shantee at the end of our line. It was myself, Gus and her running the climb in that order. She held the chip.

“Yeah! Usually, they’d swarm off without the female-” guess it paid a bit to have read up on dragons in our spare time. The knowledge came in handy in this situation. We knew the mass that was attacking our Academy- it was all male Betas and smaller kin with one large Alpha Female. We take her down, the rest will scatter.

“We could immobilize it!” Gus suggested. “But we need to know what dragon the female is to know where to effectively strike!”

He was right. We might be able to see the chaos and its form from the windows of the tower, but it wasn’t enough to classify. We had to learn its weaknesses. At this point, with our Railgun yet untested, we could only fire it at least thrice. Yet that should be enough. When other high-powered weapons were busy with the rest of the swarm, we can use what little chance we have to hit the beasts where it mattered.

“Incoming!”

We didn’t expect this, but someone had taken down one of the Horde males. Its body flew straight where we were and smashed through the tower’s side!

“SHANTEE!”

That section of the steps collapsed. She luckily evaded as I grabbed Gus by the arm and hauled him up to my side. Damned dragon had carried a section of the stairs with it!

“You guys okay!?” She called to us from the lower side of the destroyed flight.

“I was almost splattered meat!” Gus had the appetite to joke. But what now?

“We need the chip Shant!”

“I know! But I can’t hope to cross this!”

She was right. Looking for another way might mean a delay and that she might encounter those beasties again. We had barely gotten out of their grips earlier.

“Go on!” but it seemed she had an idea anyway.

“What do you plan to do?!”

“I’ll throw you the chip box from the outside!”

That seemed like a mad thing, but to us it was a good call. Of all of us, she had the strongest pitch and we trusted her aim. Next to mine, it was more than accurate enough.

“Got it!” I screamed in retort, already starting up the stairs.

“We’ll watch out for you from up there Shant! Good luck!” Gus added, sparing the plummet that forced us to separate a glare before he too followed behind me.

I trusted she was off to do her part as we were. Five levels down. That was how high it was. She’ll have to throw it that far. No problem. The only hindrance should be her getting exposed to the monsters.

“We gotta lay some cover fire for her! She’ll need some clearance to do it!”

Easier said than done.

As more smaller dragons crashed the tower side threatening to collapse the pass we were taking, Gus and myself had determined that we’d have another dilemma.

“We might end up separated!” said he, worried as dragonlings hit the areas behind us like massive canon balls and crushed these portions into ruins. He had devised a plan in a hurry then. “Come on Makia!” We knew we had to do something more.

He pulled me towards an abandoned plateau, actually a port for small airships this side of the tower. At least it was still somewhat intact. He already decided to hasten the trip upwards, telling me in a hurry about what he had in mind.

It was suicidal almost -but of course I agreed with it!

At about the same time, Shantee had arrived at the balcony below.

We saw her fire at a couple of beasties, scattering them. We also fired to help clear her line of sight.

“CATCH!” went her holler as with all her might, she pitched the chip box upwards to us, past the claws of wyverns, barbed tails and a tangle of leathery wings.

I watched it carefully, trained it with my sights, catching it in a swipe as a drac sliced through. Gus blasted it off with his heavy arm-canon immediately after I ducked the attack. He’d been saving that one. Below us, Shantee likewise skid and avoided the dragons’ talons, rolling for cover. She was safe. More importantly, we have the chip in our hands.

It was such a great display of cooperation. But there was no time to celebrate this little triumph. I saw Gus ready his hands for me to use and I did a little starting sprint immediately. I leaped to land a feet unto his palms and he boosted me up.

“Get that motherfucker!”

We did this stunt just in time. Another male had been taken down and it hit the port like a battering ram, the thing clawing at the protrusion as it fell dying. Needless to say, the screech was unpleasant and ugly.

Gus had barely jumped back into the stairwell but he was out of harm fortunately. While I was well on my way seeing this in time, grabbing the rails of the next balcony some few levels above where his throw helped me end up. I hurried my climb and found myself running the remaining of the steps within.

"Go Makia!" I could hear him, and more gunshots. I could only hope he'd be fine.

I shouted back: "Be careful!"

Gus was right to have thrown me. As it turned out, the path upwards had already taken some considerable damage. There were dead dracs piled along stairs as I glanced below; if not, the steps had actually deteriorated under all this quake and shake. These dragons were falling from the sky like a hail storm towards the tower.

I could only hope the Railgun was safe.

Luckily, the doors of our makeshift shack held against the strain when I finally got up there. And when I flung them open after dealing with some stray beasties charging towards me, the weapon was in one piece inside. Thank the gods!

I wasted no time, as the main force of the Horde was being dealt with by the other Gunnies, I installed the chip and fired our project up.

“Please work!”

This was the moment of truth. Gus’ designing, Shant’s programming, and the assembly I did to put this all together. I was praying to the merciful goddess of the land with all my might that we had not failed…


	11. The Adventures of Maco I

_From the Trinity Realms' writings:_

_Village Name: Zeles_

_Location: Frolt Region_

_“...a peaceful little village that exists near the Capital known for their houses built atop of trees. Most denizens that reside here are actually from the Tree City of Niveron in the Trinity Realm of Abyssalia, families which have sought for a more peaceful location to live in and found the Regions and its less complicated affairs appealing. It is also known for its variety of Mountain Wine.”_

It had always been relatively peaceful in Zeles.

The only action ever found here was when people spent the whole day chasing bunnies out of the vineyards to save the harvest, when the mountain grapes were ripe for picking and folks would fall out into the under-fields, or when the village was building another treehouse for a newly-wed couple which, as dictated by their customs, was part of the celebrations and attended to by the entire village itself.

Those would be the only moments everyone gathered, the streamers with the Zelesian insignia hung from the balconies proudly. The women would combine their efforts to cook a feast that will be shared by the neighbourhood, to enjoy each other’s company, their loved ones in arm so they may dance under the canopied skies, singing songs of people and the legends which still existed from the hidden caverns and grand palaces of the lands.

But then that was not really the sort of _action_ known in the other places of the Trinity Realms.

Other cities had monster fights performed by select souls in this world who could actually keep them as pets or weapons, pitting their best beast with those of others with a similar talent.

Other towns had duels between Factions where the skilled warriors plenty in the Kingdom wielded swords and spells to prove their might.

Other villages had the excitement of adventure, of travels among the vast plains of the Kingdom's endless territories, individuals seeking fortune or challenging fate to claim fame and a name for themselves among the Greats.

Much like the ones Bards often described in the songs they brought in when they passed through Zeles on their way to the Gateway Region.

How grand to hear the tales of High Mages able to manipulate the heavens and hurl large mass projectiles at oppositions; of the Clergyhood that can crater a Hell Realm (wherever or whatever that may be) to bring demons under their feet in Exorcism; of Royal High Knights who could summon the elements with their thoughts and with blades of steel carve out the heart of dragons slain.

None of these Greats ever came to Zeles though, as none of them ever originated from its boring corners. Not before. Maybe not _ever_. Only their stories ever reached this tiny village found up on the trees with its houses crowded unnecessarily above the earth just beyond the reach of the harmless creatures found in its forests.

And so life was always peaceful here, the ways preserved and about as similar in its antiquity as the books found in their constricted, aged and seriously outdated library. Not like the modernized steampunk towns and glorious cities with their busy railroads and thriving ports and airways...

Maco had been a Denizen of Zeles all fourteen years of his life. He was an orphan who never knew his mother from whom they often described he had inherited his brown locks and ashen eyes with the high rise of his nose. His father was a traveler, the only one in seven decades from Zeles who ever took up his gear -and an apple- to map the whole of Frolt Region and explore beyond its restrictions.

They said he had likewise gone on adventures all over Gateway; some of the elders describing how he had even reached into the Trinity Realms via the Gates and walked through all three: into the beauty of Senejol, the richness of Ensanjica and the stunning crown of it all which was Abyssalia.

But then he...died. Most unfortunate.

Maco was eight when the scroll came in from some strange messenger one stormy night, delivered in haste despite the rain, the strangeness of the weather, and the threat of getting struck by lightning which was plenty that night. He had already been living with his Uncle Sebas by the time the news arrived that changed his life.

He could recall but bare snippets. How he looked on innocently at them talking in hushed tones about what was contained in that one letter, casting glances at him, before his uncle called him aside to tell him those words he would never forget even until death perhaps: “Your father will not be coming home.”

The mourning had been short. It had been solemn though he did not ever recall when or where the burial was done. Maco just remembered looking upon the grave, a warm hand -and _wings_ was that?- upon his shoulder. Then for him to be left alone there.

He recalled crying himself to sleep.

After that, it was all normal again in Zeles. However, because of this _‘scandalous’_ incident, rumours began to circulate as to why his father had died...

Some say he had been on his greatest quest when the group he was traveling with chanced upon trouble. No one said what kind of _trouble_ , but the Trinity Realms heaped with monsters and people were quick to assume it was one of the larger sort, a Boss Class as they were classified, that killed his father. The whisperings and nods of agreement evident as the Zelesians talked about this with gusto, keeping the gossipy interest for nearly three months. It had been an ugly demise they said.

As if the rumours of how his father died weren’t enough to keep the tattlers occupied, Maco, an orphan of both parents now at such a young age, was attacked with the same slander, people saying how perhaps he had been intentionally abandoned by his folks here.

Some said his father vanished at the first taste of success, only for the latter to end up as an epic failure and a coward who could not show his face.

Part of the stories he’s heard, adding to the difficulties he's faced, growing up. They always gave him that look which told him how he was the butt of their conversations again.

Lies. To Maco these were all lies. He’d come to tell himself as the days passed that these were merely the suppositions of imagination. And the more he ignored them, the faster they seemed to die out, leaving his life and everyone else’s to resume their rotting cycle in these parts. But inside his mind, the puzzle was left in pieces.

He didn’t really know what the truth was but it was most certainly still _‘out there’_. How he was so certain, well, it was simple enough to figure.

Sometimes he thought it unfair how his uncle was the one who had known of what really happened yet every time he asked, he was always shunned away.

Uncle Sebas would not talk about it. The boy could never expect him to tell the whole story. His uncle was not even willing to talk of what was outside of their village’s little world up in the trees.

Ever since getting that letter, Sebas began to change day by passing day. He began to fear what was not of Zeles in the guise of protecting their kin. Obviously though, this was only a mere excuse.

_“The Kingdom falls,_

_the Kingdom rises._

_The gold-winged King comes_

_when there’s a crisis!”_

It was a game played by the younger kids of the village, a song of lore once left here by members of the Ensemble on their way to the Regions’ outer lands. Its mechanics were simple...

The children usually stacked hands one on top of the other over and over, repeating this annoying rhyme about four to five times, then, as it ends on the last repeat, the last two hands on the stack would try to either catch or evade the other. The hand above would seek to hit the hand below it. The said hand below will need to avoid getting slammed upon.

Maco used to play it most of the time when he was younger. They called it the _‘King’s Crisis’_ and he was rather good at either avoiding a hard smack by someone else’s palm or catching everyone else’s when the turns reversed. In fact he’s quite great with all their little village games.

Despite being an orphan, Maco had many friends among the other children and was a rather popular sport. He likewise lived with his cousins and there were always four playmates present. Make that three, crossing out his uncle’s stepson, Braggan, who’s somehow as vile-humoured a brat as any the village had seen. He was three years Maco’s senior and one who managed to find the most perfect of excuses to bully him.

“You’re it!”

“No fair!”

“You’re slow Dahlia!”

Laughter. The voices came but then faded. Just some of the children running around, their feet heard shuffling upon the forest floor.

 _Innocence_ , Maco called it. Do they even know what true life in Zeles was like for some? He sighed.

Ever since they were little, there’s always been bad blood between him and Braggan. Maco had already experienced being dragged, beaten, and verbally assaulted by his dearest cousin. He had also once been purposely pushed over the side of a balcony, almost a four-storey plunge, where he’d held onto a branch for dear life to almost meet their Makers, if not for Sebas finding him in time, pulling him up and over the rails to safety.  

Once Braggan partially sawed off a tree trunk while they were helping to build the Seshun’s tree house. The excuse was expected, but the intent was clear that he just wanted to watch it fall upon Maco’s head and kill him. It almost happened, if not for the saving hand of his godfather who pushed him away before he could have ended dead under the heavy weight.

These episodes were like games to Braggan, betting if he could get Maco in danger, going to all that extent to hurt him it seems. They didn’t like each other, that was obvious; whenever they were within the same proximity, it was always the same thing. The worst was his uncle seemed to always tolerate it, Braggan only receiving a lengthy sermon behind closed doors then the next day would punch and kick Maco in anger for the _discipline_ he'd received.

At this, the traveler’s orphan could only shake his head, convincing himself for the sake of his other cousins and, as a debt of gratitude to the rest of the family, that he did not hate them at all. Merely he was from the very bottom of his heart profoundly disappointed for ever getting born into this fate.


	12. The Adventures of Maco II

_From the Trinity Realms' writings:_

_Christmas Town_

_Location: All Maps_

_“...a mysterious town that surprisingly appears only during the month of December. The houses and buildings here are built clustered together in such a way that they resemble lanterns, hung from the sky! Christmas Town is curiously suspended above from an unseen base but Denizens are not complaining. They often enjoy shopping its quarters and vacationing in its many recreational spots whenever the location manifests.”_

Arda sat, the thick folds of her hooded cape tossed around close to her as she looked on beyond, at the clustered buildings of Christmas Town, lit brightly from within, but frosted on the outside with snow, the very same still falling albeit gently around her. The blizzard has passed and the skies were clearing by a bit, the Winter Lunas this side of the Realms kissing the earth with its light, making the surface appear ethereal.

This year, the town’s presence actually made a much _later_ debut when, usually, it was here in time for the holidays or even before that. The delay was attributed to the surprising and most unexpected dilemma the lantern town had encountered when it lost its precious light. The fire of the diamonds fueling its legendary glow all but vanished from the interiors of its clusters. Or were more or less misplaced by certain handlers whose incompetence could have cost the town’s literal fall.

Thus the Greats, such as herself, Arda Haron of the Royal High Knights, came immediately to its aid, putting everything back in order before disaster struck. An easy enough task. It was not like she had to face the massive monsters and the other-worldly regulars of the Kingdom. Rather, a mere chase through the inside of the suspended town’s lantern clusters, accomplishing the job within the day. Quite a feat though she was more accustomed to the tougher quests, those which could take months even years to be done at times.

She gave forth a sigh, shifting to a more comfortable position on that bench as she looked on, even as a massive shadow loomed above her, followed by a sudden tide of fresh snow blasted out of place from where it had previously settled. A fearsome roar boomed as the dragon descended, the _Volcanus_ growling, its molten insides visibly glowing as it shook its head and once more broke through with an even deafening roar.

Magnificent dragons these were, but rare according to the Realms’ Monsterpedia. It was a creature of volcanoes and explosive anger now classified among the likes of the Queen’s Thundergut and the King’s Graceful Appalea which were top protected species in Dragondom.

Vulcanus’ metal hearts were used to create the key to the Legion Archives which were only usable once. No wonder this dragon was almost pushed to extinction. Legion was faced with opposition, but the Faction decreed that it was a necessary sacrifice for the reasons of safety.

According to Church customs, the rarer the keys, the safer the Archives they kept were. They needed them to be secured this way else all of the Trinity Realms’ secrets would be easily stolen. This wouldn’t come to any good at all, but startlingly, it needed to be at the expense of some of the Kingdom’s creatures. The irony...

“Merry Holidays Arda,” came the voice of the young rider before he slid down and off of the beast, dual swords strapped firmly upon his back but hidden under a fold of his own cape.

He had his hood up, petting the massive dragon now crouching on its legs, resting a heated body against the snow, the smoke billowing from its nostrils. Volcan (his dragon’s name) had automatically cleared a large circle around itself upon their decent, the snow melting and evaporating into clouds in the presence of its naturally emanating heat.

“Shouldn’t you be attending to the _Ball_ details right this moment Captain?” she leaned back on her seat and gave him a small nod, shaking the snow off of herself with one dainty hand.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for it as well?” he simply chuckled, loosening the straps around his dragon, before eyeing Christmas Town beyond them.

The said Ball was only a couple of days away, one hosted by their Faction, the month when it will be held being the Month of Knights. It was to be a grand affair, to be attended by all the important personages in the Kingdom. Although, as the Faction Head of the Royal Guards, likewise the lead in-charge of the gathering, he seemed a bit too lax about it...

Kuroi Kenshi, the youngest Captain ever to take over the elite Faction of the Royal Guards. He had been the youngest of the Royal High Knights but was the one named heir after the Faction’s previous captain, Hayato Takaryuga, resigned from the position out of certain pressing reasons. Or had the reason been apathy really, whichever came first to merit the sudden decision.

Either way, it had been a peculiar parting. The King was rather disappointed to have the other leave but said it was also inevitable. Hayato’s presence was a hindrance to moving the Royal Guards forward, not to mention specifically, the league of the Royal High Knights...or at least that’s what she’s heard.

Arda had not at all met the former Captain and therefore was not one to give any credible description about what he was, or had been.

“I’ll just walk into the Ball in my armor since it’s allowed,” said the Captain, dusting his cloak of snow, looking up as they continued to fall anew.

It was colder here by three levels compared to any other part of the Kingdom. Some other places didn’t even have snow at all, trapped in eternal heat. But then others were trapped in eternal Winter weren’t they?

Arda sighed again, reaching a palm out to catch the few snowflakes though they only melted touching her fingertips. Volcan meanwhile perked up with a growl, sensing the presence of another animal nearby. The massive metallic form suddenly glowed and made an even larger circle of the one it was in now, exposing more earth underfoot. Something rushed from behind the bushes, but it was just one of those smaller monsters of the season, quickly burrowing and gone, sensing greater presence than itself.

Arda followed the fluffy critter with her gaze until it was lost in the enveloping whiteness. Winter had a way of painting everything blank; give it a day or two and it isolates many things, hides anything...

“I’ll see if I can make it,” said the female Knight, admittedly. “I may need to be somewhere at the time.”

The Captain only nodded, patting Volcan by the nose it reached to nuzzle him with. He raised this creature from a glowing egg by his own careful hands, the last of a set he’d found during a mission for the Archive's keys. Volcan was like family to him; if Lucia, his daughter, had a sibling, it could more likely be the dragon.

“I’m off to the Frolt and Gateway Regions. King has me chasing for news about some outlaws. I might try make it,” he also confided. It made her stare at him in complete surprise.

“Wait. You also aren't coming?”

The Captain laughed, “Hopefully I would...to see my daughter with a date I approve.”

That made the female smile, immediately volunteering, “ _Judas_?”

The young Captain only raised a brow. “...maybe?” then grinned at the idea.


	13. The Adventures of Maco III

The holidays in Zeles were given less in weight of celebration as compared to how other towns usually panicked over them. It never even snowed around these parts. Rather one just felt the subtle cold brought in by the winds. Winds that were never utterly devastating, just constantly freezing, the grass and leaves still managing to grow ever abundantly all around.

You’d only need a thicker set of clothes to combat the breeze, Maco preferring his cloak and cap to face up to the bitter chills brought in by this unseen frost.

Zeles was a most _unusual_ place. Though it was a home all the same to most of them...

Maco decided some time ago that he liked it better when he was higher up in the trees, far and away from everybody. Where he could watch the clouds drift by and the birds take flight, everything looking so small from where he was.

But then again, when he imagined it the other way around, from that sky, he was the one who appeared smaller beneath it.

The view here was always beautiful. So with much persistence, he managed building a platform up one of these older Acacias here in the village, recruiting his friend, Arthur, in a construction that happened three years ago. That was before the latter moved out with his parents to Steelburge, the father of the family offered work as a smith under the Isern Turris.

That would then be the third of his friends in four years’ time who’s left the village to live in the bigger towns. The other one, according to the last letter he sent them, getting into that Council Academy in Abyssalia to study as a Scholar of the Realms.

He hasn’t heard from them since. The letters stopped coming in one day. Maco was sure they had by now gone on to better themselves even as he...remained here.

There are many times when Maco imagined how it would be like to leave Zeles, to walk out of this forest village and see the rest of the Realms. Never happened. He was stuck here.

His uncle would not even let him see the plains the other villagers visited to pick wild berries and vegetables in Spring, described to be a beautiful place with its endless grasslands, patches of wood and vast horizons. Where the skies were wider and stars could be mapped into constellations, unobstructed by the tree tops.

A dream.

To him, the plains were foreign. He was a tourist in his own part of the Regions and often asked what chance he had to leaving Zeles altogether. Especially when his uncle was ever reluctant to let him be?

Deep inside however, he continued to long for it, for the day he’d get out of this place and see the world as his father had seen it. He also wanted to go on many adventures, see his own path and winding roads, to learn the secrets and discover his own capabilities.

Maybe someday he would no longer be stuck in pipe dreams. He wanted to have his imagination proven wrong. There should be much more out there than what his mind supplied!

“Maco! Lunch!”

From his gentle musings, he rolled over to look down the side of his rail-less tree platform, at the person whose voice was calling up to him. There stood a young girl, hair in a braid down her back, wearing a simple brown dress made of hand-woven cloth marked with the village symbols.

The typical appearance of a Zelesian denizen, likewise clad in a hooded coat of green-colored wool.

“Can’t it be later, Asandra!?”

“If you don’t come home now, Kish will eat all the food!” scoffed his cousin, hands impatiently at her waists and tapping a booted foot against the leaves dried and preserved under the thin coat of frost.

Maco could see she was wearing the carved necklace he had made for her birthday. Of all his cousins, he was closest to Asandra, not only because they were of the same age, but because she was the nicest to him.

Asandra even stood up to Braggan for him, which made Maco ponder as to whether or not he was really that weak because, at times, someone else fought his battles for him.

“Fine…”

“Hurry!”

“I said I’m coming!”

She said it again, “Faster!”

Maco smiled, then rolled his eyes, reluctantly flopping on his back again and forcing himself to sit up. The day was not so cold, just cool, and a dash of warm sunlight filtered through the leaves with a drama. He wanted to stay up here forever; if he could not get out of Zeles at least he wanted to see everything else from a height.

Asandra called up to him again. Maco growled this time. “I’m coming! Geez!” then began his climb down.

Jumping off the platform, he reached for a branch and took an immediate leap, continuing to scale the distance to earth from yet another branch, and another, sliding down the trunk of a smaller tree which ended growing merged with their Acacia, holding on to several winding vines which sprouted thorns but he knew well of and avoided.

When he landed, he immediately tapped his cousin’s shoulder “Race you home Asandra!” and ran like an Armoured Horse rode on an Errand of Mercy.

Zeles was believed to be a village its forefathers founded long ago because they had become tired of the Realms, its battles and its monsters, seeking something which was far more peaceful.

They found the Regions appealing, distant from the heated senselessness of the main cities. They shunned its sister, the Borders, for being too busy, the denizens flooding into it stagnating there. And who would want to be in the Pooling Grounds right? It was were dangerous people came in from other places to die in testing.

The people here had originally been from Niveron according to the records. Niveron which was an even marvelous tree city in Abyssalia with the larger structures and the grander tree houses. They even have temples hewn out from the sides of mountains and mansions perched on top of the oldest copse of Bluewoods which could spread widely for acres! They could rise higher and touch the clouds.

It was something their village could not be. Zeles could never compare to that. Then again Maco has never seen how Niveron or anywhere else really looked like to make a proper comparison. He could only stare tirelessly at the sketches of a book, but never reach in to be there himself...

Before their legs were tired, they ran, hurriedly through towering Binnows and drooping Preens, the vines of Winter flora winding up the trees and the arches which marked the center of their humble village and its fountain, the one which served more like a gigantic bird bath as it had never gurgled over even once.

Broken.

That was the word. Like many things found left over in the forest ruins by the generation in those  _'better of days'_ elders spoke about.

“Maco! Wait up!”

“Come on Asandra! Faster!”

He ran ahead, feet not losing a step even as he jumped through the bushes and slid between the Willows near one of the smaller rivers running through their village. He knew these parts by heart and could admittedly navigate through every nook and cranny blind. He knew whose houses were overhead, what name the faces of the folk he ran past went by, the occupation of the ones who gave him little waves of greeting or little gestures of distrust.

They just raced past the Alcoso’s tree house up above, the second biggest structure there is on Zeles next to the town hall. It was built on top of three Oaks aged a thousand years each, connected by sturdy hanging bridges from one separate structure to the next.

This property also included a Cellar Shop carved in and winding down one trunk, extending partly underground. It doubled as a store which sold goods to the denizens in Zeles above, while below it were stored large barrels of Mountain Wine. The bread and butter of the Alcoso’s fortune.

The Alcoso’s were a wealthy yet humble family. They ran a post for the Merchant Trader’s Faction here in the village. They sold supplies to travelers and pilgrims that came through Zeles. They also sold to their neighbours, operating the largest shop in the area, the volume of merchandise coming from the Region Capital of Frolt and Gateway.

Majority of their profits however came from the trade of Mountain Wine, the most exotic of which in all the Regions aged here in Zeles.

The Alcoso’s were also the godfathers of many a married couple in these parts and basically were well-respected. As a matter of fact, Maco’s godfather is an Alcoso. Gapa is his name, a third generation offspring of the clan, eldest of the sons of the previous family and was the leading trader when it came to supplying Mountain Wine to other towns and cities in the Kingdom. Today the man seemed busy enough.

As Maco ran down the bend, he suddenly stopped, seeing Gapa’s men hard at work. They were rolling barrels upon larger barrels out from the back end of the Cellar Shop, loading them onto waiting carts. These were containers of aged wine which Gapa marked using an eroded piece of chalk then checking them off on a parcel as they were pushed by. Maco immediately paused, curious.

Instead of heading forward towards their home on the outskirts of the village, he carefully turned, walking down the stony steps leading to the Cellar Shop. He had been running in speed so with heaving breaths, he began to calm his beating heart and control his own body into a relax. He was sweating slightly and feeling warm enough. He immediately took off his coat, making a knot of its sleeves around his waist, letting it hang free behind him.

Asandra almost passed him by but likewise stopped when she noticed her cousin going out of the way, legs making a brake for it as she looked at him curiously. She called out, half-panting, “I’ll leave you Maco!”

“Go ahead without me!” the boy shooed her off without looking back, always fascinated with the ways of trade as easily as he was enticed by the prospect of adventure.

She only frowned at that. “Suit yourself! Don’t blame me if there’s no lunch left for you!” then sighed when he did not respond to this.

She watched him descend the lower steps, then shrugged as he disappeared where the bushes crowded high over people’s heads. He better not get into trouble for hanging about the Alcoso’s again though honestly she was well aware he never really minded her father’s anger when it came to this.

“See you later then!?” she called after him. No response. She knew he’d be gone a while.

With a sad smile to herself, Asandra moved on home without him...

* * *

Maco’s second interest had always been trade, and none was greater at this profession than his favored Faction, the Merchant Traders. Their galleons and fleets were the sign of riches wherever they docked, be it in this world or the next, sky or sea. Wherever there was business, they were there, bringing goods to any and all their selling posts - from those in the biggest of cities to the tiniest of villages!

Zeles had always been a part of this circle. The Alcoso’s maintained strong ties with the Faction, his godfather a known senior member of it. Although Gapa was not yet in the league of the Trader Guild’s _inner circle_ , Maco looked up to him and considered him as his personal hero when it came to trading.

Gapa often described his work to Maco, was even responsible for introducing him to Hanji Aradia Williams through prose. She was the legendary Trading Head. That bespectacled resident mad scientist and alien of the Realms, and one of the few females who held Headship among the Kingdom's Factions alongside the Gunnery Queen and the missing Mistress of the Iron Towers.

It was said that she could sail a galleon through any whirlpool on the Abyssilian seas and still have time for a spot of tea! She sailed the King’s Vodka through storms very often in those comedies he's read.

“Aren’t these...your twenty-year-old’s Gapa?” Maco’s smile was undeniable.

If other children's faces lightened at the sight of candy or toys, his brightened at the sight of trading activities.

He grew up around these barrels. He played hide-and-seek with his godfather’s children here in the cellars and was even witness when some of these containers got built, filled and corked.

There was even one barrel marked with his initials in the cellar somewhere, the wine within as old as he would be now, one that Gapa promised to give him someday for his wedding feast though Maco just stuck out a tongue at the thought. That had been some years ago. He told him he would never get married.

“Good eye,” said his godfather, certain that the boy knew what his twenties barrels looked like with their darker wood and more aromatic scent.

With a partly-wrinkled hand, he rubbed his beard before marking the barrel rolling past him with the chalk and crossing it out on the parcel with a pen he clipped onto it.

“Where are all these going?” Maco eyed the large order as the labourers carefully piled them over. With heaves and shoves, muscles flexing as they were even more careful to secure each barrel in place with heavy straps, tightening the hold or doubling it to prevent them from falling over and spilling out.

These carts were huge, fenced on both sides, and will be pulled by the Armoured Horses to their destinations. Maco was already imagining the creatures with all their six legs pounding to tarry off with the weight. These were farm-bred stallions of course, not those wild monsters with their lightning stripes and blue bodies found roaming the Kingdom. These horses were ordinary compared to those things and less deadlier, he was told...

Gapa had been to places. He had seen some of the best cities where trade has taken him, had even clasped hands with Royals although his godfather had not answered that rumour, deigning to tell with a simple smile.

Whatever the case, Maco looked up to him with much respect and listened to his tales with equal enthusiasm. The boy had spent enough time here when he wasn’t on that platform. For fact, part of what he knows he’s learned from this seasoned tradesman.

“We’re taking these to Bassilea, straight to the Abyssalian Capital and into the Northern Palace,” Gapa replied. “There’s going to be a Faction Ball led by the Royal Guards and they are expecting _at least_ a few thousand guests.”

"A thousand is a few?"

The trader laughed. "To the eyes of one in Headship, a thousand is a minimal number."

Of course Maco has heard of Bassilea. Who hasn’t when it was the capital of the Kingdom, the center of trade, and where the seat of power, the North Belany Palace (the size supposedly of a small city in itself) stood proudly?

It was also the location of the Fantasy Ballroom which was a section of the massive palazzo reserved for such events, so-named because it had the tendency to magically switch settings throughout its epic feasts, treating attendees to a spectacle unlike any other in the Kingdom.

Gapa said it was where the seasons could change and happen all at the same time in one location. Where the moon and its galaxies lowered to earth. Where one could dance underwater without getting drenched or drowning!

It sounded very amazing, extravagant the tales of these special nights and commemorations. Maco always wanted to see that ballroom. He wanted to see it in action so he in turn can tell Asandra all about it.

She’s always dreamed of attending one of these events, but has never, even once in dreams, been able to...

Some years ago, Asandra was privileged to get one invitation when the Ensemble’s Divinitante, the then Maestro of the Faction, Cura Ribalt, learned of her voice and wanted to have her sing at the Queen’s Eternal Ball.

But instead of thinking this to be an honour for Zeles and the family, his uncle just tore through the invitation like a madman. He also forbade Asandra to join the Ensemble Faction’s Order of the Lyon’s Lyrics although she had been granted a full scholarship, financing and boarding by the Bards.

Her dreams of ever reaching the Bard’s Amalfis and learning music from the best in the Order was thus stunted by her own father’s sudden outbursts. Her dreams were dashed in an instant. She never spoke of it ever again.

She did mention once, and Maco took it to memory, that if there was one place she wanted to go to, if ever she was ever allowed, it would be there to that Fantasy Ballroom. Where she, in a stunning dress, will certainly perform for the guests this time. She described how she would raise her voice to its peak, make it croon into everyone’s hearts, the lyrics of the song clear and beautiful.

They would remember her forever by her songs and the soul she would put into them.

In the end, all Asandra ever wanted was to sing. On an open stage to a crowd and not the silent forests, a picture of her showing everyone how gifted she really was. Maybe her sad compositions would be made into happier melodies, if finally she was allowed this simple joy.

Maco sometimes thought his uncle’s outrage about the outside of Zeles was borderline delusional. If there ever was a fool in the village for letting opportunities pass, it would be him. Sebas Luis didn’t even want his children hanging around the Alcoso’s, voicing his distaste at how he thought Gapa was giving them all...ideas.

But then what was that which he feared? The world was vast and whether or not they admitted it, his children wanted to be a part of it. Maco most especially.

“I wish I could be a trader someday,” his godson frowned at the thought of his unfair uncle and how he seemed to want to just keep them all here.

Gapa gave him a pat on the head. “You can be anything you want son,” smiled the trader, a wholesome and very friendly face whose ashen eyes and happy demeanor shone through any conversation.

“Not a chance with uncle. He doesn’t even want to send me to the Regions' Capital.”

"Well he might, given a few. Time after all has a way of changing people’s minds mah boy," Gapa said.

Maco doubted that very much.

Being a small village, Zeles did not have its own official school. What could be considered as something close to an actual educational system are the librarians offering lessons on writing and reading to the village children. It was an edict however that when they reached a certain age before puberty, they must continue education in the larger towns under the mentoring of Scholars.

Parents in Zeles of course obliged, happily accepting the opportunity as these were offered open to all denizens, however, his uncle Sebas' point of view on the matter was rather the reverse of it.

Instead of sending his children to school, he sent them to work in the forests. Instead of telling them to study and seek the better, he told his children, including Maco, that the skills at lumber-jacking that he taught them was all they needed to get by in life. As if expecting them all to rot here in Zeles with him.

Gapa noted the sadness that was evident enough on Maco’s face, tinged with annoyance, anger, helplessness. An expression which made him sigh and scratch his head.

The last barrel rolled away in front of them, was marked and was now getting strapped in with the rest. The day has gone colder again, the wind sending leaves to a shuffle, ruffling the forest in turn and making everyone tuck their coats in tighter.

The labourers seem to shrink within themselves, blowing smoke to the wind as the pipes came out to help keep warm, flasks of wine out and allowed to get a little heat going.

His godfather gave his men an approving nod, the handiwork secured enough, the merchandise now safe for delivery. He next told them to take a break before inviting Maco in for a hot meal as he surely would be hungry.

It was way past lunch time now, told by the thinning light which lapsed through the trees. Darkness fell early in these forests, faster than how the temperatures plummeted sometimes.

“I also have Elberries Pie with hot chocolate. I know you like that,” tempted the trader, a hand out to ruffle his godson's hair again as the latter rubbed his arms and reached to undo his coat so he may put it on.

Maco seemed to come back to life again, giving the older man a smile and several nods of agreement. "Yes sir!"

Gapa returned that with a hearty chuckle. At least with this he could certainly cheer the boy up somehow.


	14. The Adventures of Maco IV

Gapa’s children had all gone to the Trinity Realms. One of them was already working in the Bank City of Runos - a financial genius, people called him; one was aspiring to be in the Air Fleet - a dragonnaire ever since he was young; the other, older than Maco by five years, was studying under the Council Academy to become a Scholar.

He also had a daughter who was now staying in the Regions’ Capital and on the road to deciding which faction she’d like to try out for once she graduated Mid Classes. Her name was Greta.

The Alcoso’s were always proud of their children’s accomplishments and the legacy by which they would leave their grandchildren. Gapa's sister was a standout in their history. She was an Alchemist, one of the best. But then she met a man she fell madly in love with and took the road to marriage instead of the grandeur of her profession.

The Alcoso’s bore this incident no ill-will however, because _Beatrice_ had been very happy. Although this was eventually short-lived. The Lady had died giving birth to her only child...

Gapa had lunch served near the fireplace, pulling up a table and a couple of stools, letting Maco set the small feast as he sank into his more comfortable seat. The trader indulged in a bit of smoking with his long pipe, stoking the flames before them with a stick. He fed it the few pieces of log he’d earlier split with an ax at the door.

Maco helped to get them both some soup with a ladle, taking bread, giving thanks to the gods and goddess before buttering them up to toast lightly on the burning coals. He set a few warm slices down on a plate for his godfather.

“Well what are you waiting for? Help yourself my boy!”

There were cheeses and jams, some other preserved bottles of sweetened fruit. Maco however loved the soup more because it made him feel all warm inside, just spiced enough, the unmistakable presence of Mountain Salt and Darker Pepper palpable. He could smell the caramelized meat in large slabs. When he chewed on them, they melted. So good.

The trader just watched him patiently, glad to have his company, and waited for him to settle before he began speaking the few of the stories he knew about the Kingdom. Gapa had a way of telling these tales as if he were there when they happened - if not one from his own experience that is. He often spoke of the history of things around the Trinity Realms, even the sad ones that sorrowed Maco enough that he would stay up pondering on them at nights. One of his favorite stories was that of the Unmentioned, the beings said to have lost their souls because they gave up their shadows.

Today’s narrative revolved around one of the Kingdom’s deeper circles, the Secret Faction, the Shadow Sentries who are said to walk among the populace like myths, more or less because none ever knew of their existence. According to theory, those who tried to find them ended up dead somehow.

“But then why a faction of secrets?” Maco asked, spooning large portions of meat from the soup into his mouth enough that his godfather immediately cautioned him to slow down, offering water.

“There are certain crimes and instances which cannot be trusted so easily to the Royal Guards, even those in the headship of the High Knights. Thus anything that cannot be dealt with in the open, within the Kingdom, is dealt with in secret.”

Gapa knew this fact to be particularly true. For even in the Merchant Traders there were things that needed to be kept concealed, the top trading methodologies for example which are never written in books or taught in the academies. The headship’s little clandestine affairs and dealings. You’ll never read those in even the closed documentations.

“But as to what the actual function of that faction really is, it is a question you’ll have to ask the members themselves...or the King as he is the one responsible for creating the order which now makes up our world,” said his godfather.

Another strange aspect to the Trinity Realms was the Royal Family, and its King whom people seem to adore though he does not directly make an appearance for all to see. According to the tiny bits tossed here from travelers, he was a being of mighty stature and regal bearing, was just and fair to all, a lover of battles but never the originator of war. Maco can just imagine. He must be some man.

He kept his Kingdom in constant check that even the poor were not denied a means of living, although some tragedies were just unavoidable as both nature and people had their own manner of doing things, and that these actions were not all for the greater good. There would always be an opposition, forces in the Kingdom that were after its downfall. And in this manner the King and his factions were often the heroes.

“Have you ever encountered someone from the Secret Faction, Gapa?”Maco posed the question while he looked at the fire, watching the ash slide off from the side and fall to the bottom of the burning heap, the meal now done replaced by tea and hot chocolate.

The trader thought to himself before saying with a stroke of his beard and a whiff of his pipe, “I believe I have.”

“Really?”

“Yes. At least that’s what I think I saw.”

Some years ago, back in the days when Gapa was still an upstart trader for the Regions, among the first locations he had ever gone to for business were through the towns of Orienta. This seaside community had then become a stunning source for the best deals on various precious items like pearls, sea silk, spice potions and salt which inland areas in the Trinity Realms needed, among other commodities. They were bartered or sold as raw ingredients and Gapa had started making a fortune selling them.

En route to the Inner Island however, trouble caught up with the caravan he had been a part of.

“Bandits,” spoke the trader in recollection. “And these had been the most dangerous groups back then, the ones wanted for many crimes all throughout the Kingdom. They raided towns, stole from cities and plundered any rich merchant that happened to pass their way.”

Gapa recalled how the said culprits threw them off path, then proceeded to rob their carts and take them as hostages. A message for help had already been sent out but the bandits worked quick enough that they were already walking a deeper end of the forests nearby when the cavalry had arrived.

“They took us bound, hand and foot, saying that we’d be sold off as slaves or taken to the Necromancers. They led us walking down an unknown path before the blindfolds went up and we just found ourselves marched onto cells, the feel of earth, the scent of water.

“We had been taken underground.”

As Gapa recalled, the next few hours had been a tense moment for their group. With their security troops taken down and overwhelmed earlier, most of them dead by the sword and ruthlessness of the bandits, and their rescuers, assuming there were, now far and perhaps unknowing of where they were taken to, there appeared to be no way for survival. Their fate seemed inevitable. Then...

“They came,” Gapa smiled, his face catching the light of the fire as it seemed to blaze up as the story reached this part of its narration. Maco’s breath seemed to halt with anticipation, at the edge of his seat.

“Who came godfather?” asked the boy.

If remembrance served him correct, and it did, Gapa had simply heard the sounds of swords swung, and screams from the bandits, the leader’s voice ringing through the expanse of cave around them, orders thrown about as something or rather someone had invaded the den. The traders huddled together, still bound and unseeing, now fearing for their lives as they felt the intensity of a commotion in progress, as the screaming got worse and worst and even beyond that! Such horror!

Then...

There was the sudden shroud of silence...

“Everything stopped. Everything went still. And as noisy as we had come, pleading as the bandits sneered, all that remained was the eerie coldness of being in those subterranean catacombs, and the silence which allowed even the gentlest of trickling water from above the ceiling its song.

“Then all we could feel were the ropes loosening, and the sound of a door swung open.”

It took a while for the traders to realize that they had been freed. They scrambled to their feet, Gapa and the others undoing their blindfolds in time to catch a shadow left behind by someone, the head of its owner the only portion cast before it too was drawn away.

“I had to find out what happened! I had to know what was going on,” said the trader. “I bolted towards that tunnel, the ropes still tied to my left ankle, the blindfold still knotted behind my head as it fell down around my neck.”

Despite the warnings of his comrades, a young and curious Gapa ran to find out who had rescued them, only catching a glimpse of the image presented by the scattered bodies of bandits as they had appeared to be thrown to the sides, the blood washing the irregularly dug walls red, splatters to the ceiling and even sprayed over the merchandise they stole.

Not even stopping as the others followed him, Gapa trailed the stranger who had saved them outside, almost stumbling, standing, but then falling hard to scrape his hands as he scrambled onto glaring sunshine, the harsh light immediately prompting him to shield his eyes.

He was blinded by the sun for a moment, but he knew what he saw: a being cloaked and one who did not wish to show his face. The said being was in the company of an unmistakable knight, clad in dark armor and bearing the coat of the Two Eagles and the Crown which was the sign of the Royal Guards.

“Knights?” asked Maco with his brows rising. “Knights saved you Gapa?”

“One of them was, yes, for certain! But the other...the other was something else.”

There was an insignia Gapa had caught just as their two saviors turned to walk away, of a fierce Griffin and Scimitars seemingly flying in a sea of equal red and black. Something which was likewise embellished upon the hilt of the stranger’s dagger, the weapon itself concealed under the cloak. The two left him where he had fallen on his knees.

“What I saw I didn’t yet know then, but it was the mythical Coat of Arms of the Shadow Sentries, a faction which to some did not even exist. That or what I saw were merely the results of an over-inventive imagination.”

“But they are real? This faction?”

Gapa gave a small chuckle and leaned over the fire to empty his pipe of ash. The scent of Smoking Herbs was something Maco had no tolerance to when he was younger, but then as he kept straying to his godfather’s side and learnt his trade, he had grown accustomed to it. Now whenever he catches the unmistakable smell, all he knew was that Gapa was nearby and it made him feel all right.

The trader spoke, “I have come to believe that they do, after that incident. Though there had been very few instances that they had appeared again since.”


	15. The Adventures of Maco V

_From the Trinity Realms' writings:_

_Bassilea Capital_

_Location: Abyssalia_

_Associated Faction: Royal Family; High Council_

_“...Bassilea, the Centre of Abyssalia's Arcanta, the Upperground Map. The Council (which is made up of Faction Heads) is said to hold some of its secret meetings here although no one exactly knows where._

_"The Capital is also a destination for overall trade, with its outskirts reserved for agricultural production. Bassilea comes rich with territories suitable for farming, as well as the manufacturing of various goods sold throughout the Kingdom. The Balaur Northern Palace is located here, magnificent with its rising towers and beautifully pristine façade, glimmering like the skin of pearls under the sunlight...”_

It had been his habit at daybreak. Those early to rise among the court often see him as he walked around the palace in Bassilea, the halls and their echoing silence a welcome cease to the usual hurry of his Kingdom, the still sleepy sunshine streaming through the curtains adding to the solemnity of his peace. 

The King meditated with his every stride, pondering on less the amount of thoughts. Sometimes none. If only all the moments of his life were similar to this, he would be a bit happier. For at the moment there had been nothing but stress, another tumultuous eon it seemed. He wondered how much more he could take of it...

Lord Claudius willed himself towards the direction of the Palace’s expansive Throne Room, located at one end of the East Wing. It was found furthest across from where the gilded Fantasy Ballroom doors stood in separation. The very same that would soon open to admit guests for the Faction Ball, the event scheduled to take place a few days from now. 

The month was that of the Royal Guards, his High Knights, and it was under their supervision that this gathering was happening. Part of the Palace was in fact busy with preparations, servants like ants going to and fro polishing every trace of silver, the dishes, the fine china, pressing the linen, scrubbing the thousands of candelabras, preparing the very venue itself for the magic that will once more wrap it during the event. 

Much of the raw ingredients and liquor had already reached the royal kitchens, rolled away for storage, others still on their way from the farthest corners of the Realms to hopefully arrive without delays in the next few hours, or when they are expected to, the worse is that they might take a couple days on the road but that has not really hindered these affairs thus far.

The events held here in the Capital were always an adventure through the rich pleasures of various tastes in the Kingdom, highlighted by nothing less but the most unique of delicacies and preparations from all the Realms’ towns and cities and even from the tiniest of villages. 

The most exquisite of delights to tickle the senses would be served: frosted white tomatoes, desert underground potatoes, savory fish steaks, dragon’s meat, creamed caviar, blue eggs...all manner of cheeses and sought after wine. Even the King’s favorite Cherry Dragon Fruit would be offered to guests. Everyone is always dying to taste the Sire’s favorite fruit.

He half-expected it for dessert during the Ball, which pleased him whatever form the gourmets would creatively present it in. Just as he expected the noisy dawdle of patrons and visitors, the snide of the semi-aristocracy and even the normal talk of awe from the common denizens who would come to ogle at those in power as if they were decorated pieces.

What will be. But for now it was all quiet.

Not only because there had been a mandate to not disturb the Royal Family, explicit instructions included in the invitations for guests and others to not meander carelessly into those Palace places deemed private and off-limits. It was also because everyone knew how it was necessary to respect the peace of the King and his family. Never cross the boundaries lest, worst, they wanted the Queen to burst into flames on the spot in anger. She was beyond frightening... 

With only the sound of his own feet tapping against the marble, Lord Claudius made his way from the doors to the aisle of the room, the folds of his white robes immaculate and much in contrast to the rich velvet red of the carpet. His long hair free to fall down his shoulders, only a small section of the said ebony locks tied back and away from his face by a length of black ribbon. 

The regal King. He was a nobleman of grand stature, the ease upon his relaxed shoulders speaking of the degree by which royalty ran deep through his veins. He was ageless. A history of conquests under his name. A most amazing combatant in all there were. His eyes always sharp with determination, his senses keen with understanding, and his heart...as true in its care for his people. No wonder he was most loved by the denizens.

His golden stare traveled ahead of him, looking on until it had gazed upon the throne. The Lord of the Realms promptly raised his hand, touching one of many hand-chiseled dragons decorating the arms and back of his golden seat, noting the quiet _Shadow_ whose back was turned towards him and apparently waiting to have this silent audience. A lurking soul behind him. The ‘Shadow’ had come quite early, actually. 

The King smiled, sighing, finally taking his rightful place on the throne in two steps, folding his hanging sleeves in and resting his hands there. He slowly eased his glance about the emptiness, loving how everything was at peace no matter how temporary it was.

The Throne Room was modestly decorated though, architecturally, it was a work of art, the ceilings arched and meeting in domes carved with figures and eternal flowers, the fauna and the legends found in the Kingdom immortalized in stone. The chandeliers that hung here were tapered using crystals, precious stones and clear diamonds hung in several places, made up of a single central piece surrounded by a dozen others and smaller hanging lamps of the same motif connected by pale ruby ropes. 

The marble had an amazing sheen and natural pattern to it, dressing the walls and stretching across the floor, to the four corners hung with massive and heavy banners bearing the Coat of Arms of the Royal Family: the Crown, the Cross, and the Four Myths indicating the members’ Creature Classes - the Dragon for the King, the Phoenix for the Queen, the Griffin and the Unicorn or Kirin for the Princes and Princesses respectively. Of course there’s the carpeting, the few yet luxurious seats and chairs, aged tables and multiple paintings hung about framed in gold or petrified wood.

Occasionally there would be real flowers of profuse bouquets in large vases scattered under the columns when the season or occasion called for them; this time the interior was bare. Never mind as the Throne Room opened to one of the most beautiful gardens in all of Abyssalia, visible through the closed floor-length windows bordered with stained glass that, like the rest of the palace, was the testament to the work of the Isern Turris and the artisans that made up its folds. 

“Master Sentry,” acknowledged the King.

He was noting how the outer courtyards now teemed with Winter Flowers and snow that’s managed to fur the Palace grounds overnight. The thick white coat made everything appear eternal.

“Sire,” was all the other said, not even bothering to remove his hood and cloak, the weight of two hidden daggers concealed behind the mantle, along with other weapons he was privileged to carry even in the presence of his King.

The Sentry would often come to see him in the mornings to report, the missions and orders habitually given to him during the nights. The faction he was head of will always be the best choice when they needed something done in stealth, results surely delivered on a platter the next day. 

Lord Claudius cared less how it was achieved, as long as it was achieved with skill and to his satisfaction. He expected nothing less from those he trusted, and most of whom he trusted, he did trust with his own life.

“How was it? Are my Selkies back home?”asked the King as he shifted on his seat, casting an eye back but not entirely looking at the other, merely a simple look over his shoulder. 

He was talking about the rumors of Water People getting kidnapped by vile merchants, and he immediately dispatched the ordeal towards the office of the Sentries to be dealt with. The King held a heart for the race of the Selkies as the Tatsuya’s and Miew, the fisher folk of his Kingdom, were personal friends. 

“Yes,” came the Master Sentry’s quick response, feeling rather accomplished to have done away with the task early. The King nodded in approval. 

“The culprits?”

“Dispatched. Discreetly my Lord, as you _wanted_.”

“Perfect Rave, old friend...”

The forces that helped to safeguard the Kingdom were often split in two, with every faction seemingly having a counterpart in another. Such was its design that there would always be a complement to the skill of another among his men, even if that meant competition at times between those he’d assigned to power.

The faction of the Royal Guards had always been entrusted with the task of defending the Realms, as everyone knew. Their troops and soldiers like that of the Air Fleet and Ocean Armada always found manning the outposts, guarding the borders of the cities and other places of interest in the Land. They also kept order and lent help when the need arose. Their Battle Call even stated the intention clearly resounding, ‘For King and Kingdom’ which was the mantra its members shouted as they charged into war, their coat of the Crown and Golden Eagles waving high and proud. Their proof of might.

Led by the valiant group of High Knights, they were often the first to come in aid when trouble was afoot, always the ones sent on heavy missions in need of capable conquerors, and were known as heroes who, in their strong armor, defeated beasts, brandishing their strength and great fighting prowess with such effectiveness. But little did everyone know they were not the only ones charged with such work.

The counterpart of the Royal Guards would be the Secret Faction, a less glamorous though vital group of individuals with equal tenacity yet more deviousness, its Shadow Sentries the equivalent of the best in the High Knights acting as the silent yet deadly army that’s able to carry out the more clandestine of quests knights cannot get their hands dirty for. 

They eliminated threats with precision, gathered information and were the executioners that dealt with law breakers as well as the unfit criminals that wreaked havoc in the Kingdom. They were more of less the assassination squad who would sometimes intervene with the Royal Guards and all the other factions because they were allowed, this function the cause of the rivalry which existed between the knights and the sentries once before...

“Any news on my nephew?”

The Lord of the Realms had another task which he required of the Sentries; so far however, the Secret Faction had been faced with difficulties. But rather than cover it with lies or sugar-coat the matter with excuses, the Master Sentry knew well to maintain honesty when faced with the King. Lord Claudius was cruel to deceit. Add that to the fact that his strength was to be feared. Absolute truthfulness was a must.

“I’m afraid we have none. 

“The Sentries did manage to catch his trail but then it always ended up cold,” said the head to which the King only sighed. 

“I figured as much,” admitted the Sire, a hand propping up so he may rest a chin on its knuckles, thinking about how he may rectify the situation. He was worried much of his nephew, his sudden disappearance a most troubling affair, although he had a feeling the latter might have chosen to run away. “I suppose you can never find one who doesn’t really want to be found.” 

Silence. 

The King’s nephew arrived here through the portals months ago but the boy vanished from the Palace just a few after. Lord Claudius had been to the hilt in worry since, yet he had this suspicion: what if the reason why the other had disappeared was due to the pressures of the fate left to him by the circumstances? What if he did not want to be part of anything in the Kingdom after all? 

The King noticed something moving from the corner of his eyes, rising from his seat to take a closer look at the other _lazy soul_ which had found itself lost within the confines of the Throne Room. The Lord walked up to a nearby protrusion from the wall, one of many used to hang decorations and ornamentation during certain affairs utilizing the space. He looked up and smiled. The Master Sentry followed soundlessly behind him.

“So this is where you’ve wandered to, Tetsu...?” the King raised his hand, the hanging sleeve slipping over a strong, graceful wrist as he beckoned at the creature.

The blue-haired cat stretched and yawned, the hairs on its body bristling from his head to the tip of his tail, before he raised a nose to sniff at the air out of instinct. Then he simply made a leap, landing effortlessly and as soundlessly upon his master’s lifted hand. From there he crawled to bury in the folds of the arm the King had folded in for him, down into a soft cushion of fabrics which was the royal garb. Lord Claudius reached his other hand to scratch his cat’s nape, fingers digging gently into the silkiness of his fur. 

Tetsuya was unlike most cats. He was a Nekoa halfling meaning he had ‘extra’ gifts afforded to him by his race. He could transform into a being when it was necessary though there was rather a weird catch to it. When he morphs, his form was always that of a seven-year-old boy whenever the change is done around his Master. None has been able to explain the phenomenon. 

He had a life pair by the name of Miyuki, and three kittens named by Lord Claudius. They lived with the Royal Family as pets though there was more to them than just being that. They were considered family, Tetsu, in particular, quite close to the children of the King...

“Sire, I am suspecting his brother knows where he might be, but due to the Vows of Secrecy, once sworn, the Clergy will certainly not speak,” the Master Sentry continued from where they’d stop in their conversation.

Of course Judas Killian knew more or less where his brother had strayed to or was intending to get to. But for this same reason stated by the Secret Faction Head, there would be no luck getting any information out of him. Never from Legion. The Faction would never tattle.

They managed keeping the secrets of the Realms under full confidentiality, how more a little secret of whereabouts?

Yet let it not be said that the King was the sort to resort to coercion in exchange for any manner of confession. He loved and respected his family above all; this included the Faction Heads which were members of the Kingdom’s Council. Lord Claudius smiled.

He had been asking himself a lot of questions ever since his cousin’s death, and continue to ask them still. Losing the late Clergy Rochis Arthforth was like losing an arm, a leg and a very large portion of his heart. A slice of his conscience died that day. A person he cherished most of all taken away from him.

He posed the same wonder to the Master Sentry: “Do you suppose I have asked much of my cousin’s children since his death, Raven? Or have I fallen rather dependent on my cousin himself when he was still among us, expecting him to always be there as my support when this was obviously mad?”

The Master Sentry weighed his responses. The King would want truth and he shall give him his most unbiased opinion, but then he needed to form one based solely on the way he had perceived it, how it had been as far as was known of all parties...as far as he himself believed. 

Rochis Arthforth was a powerful man. But he was also compassion, befitting the title of ‘Saint’ granted him during his days. 

“You do what you must my Lord, and they understand that," was his honorable answer. 

The King silently thought on it, rubbing Tetsu’s ear as the latter all but wrapped a long, blue tail around his wrist, the Lord’s hand playing idly with his hair. The Nekoa purred.

Heads such as Raven Chrestmire were often concerned with the many aspects of the Kingdom, but beyond their own factions in need of governance and the multiple members they have in tow, they also concerned themselves with matters pertaining especially to the King. 

Like all members of the Council and all those who cared for the Lord of the Realms, it was likewise his business if the other ever felt down or out of sorts. After all, when he was troubled, it was the duty of them, the Heads to learn why and provide a resolution to whatever it might be as soon as they can. Luckily enough, sometimes, it was very easy to ease the burdens of their Liege.

Raven loosened the folds of his hood, then bent his elbows up to reach somewhere in the line of his rib area, hands grasping the well-worn handles of the daggers he had concealed. As he pulled them out of their singular sheathe, his cape all but slipped off of his shoulders, falling down to his feet, revealing naked arms clothed in numerous tattoos, the tighter and darker regalia of the assassin groups and the markings of a Null spell decorating those wrists. 

The King narrowed his eyes, turning ever slightly to look at the other man, curiously, over one shoulder, Tetsu the blue cat still in his arms and appearing to doze off, pawing unconsciously at the air. 

A killer this one with him, an emanating presence that seemed to always be dangerous. Raven stood there with half of his face still masked, very much armed to the teeth, but he was the Lord’s friend by any length and likewise always his to command.

“Rave?”

The Head spun the daggers and grabbed them to a stop, poised in such a way that they were now ready for stabbing. But this was not the assassin’s intention really, instead, he gave the King a bow of respect, crossing the daggers before him.

“Perhaps his Majesty would like a spar with his servant?” the Head watched a look of amusement slowly crept onto his Lord Claudius’ face. “You would do me the greatest honor, Sire...”

* * *

Maco had insisted on tidying up after the meal and his godfather could do no more to stop him. The plates and bowls were gone in an instant, off to the kitchen to be washed, the boy more than happy to be here really and simply enjoying the silence of the household. The smell of his godfather’s Smoking Herbs permeated every corner, but it was a compliment in more ways...as was everything in the space.

The Alcoso’s home was large yet quaint, old yet beautiful. Far from the house of his uncle that seemed to be rutting in distress enough that the tree it was perched on looked more troubled than those around it. A far cry from Gapa’s residence where things were all in order: a place for all and all in their proper places.

After finishing with the chore, Maco looked at the portraits hung on the walls of the living area where they were now, Gapa at his cozy little corner double-checking his documentations in preparation for the delivery early tomorrow. 

“Godfather, where was this one taken?” the boy pointed to an image, its backdrop an area teeming with glowing flowers.

Gapa need not look up to see which image it was his godson was referring to, instead concentrated on his lists while answering, “The Heathen Lands. Those are from the Glowing Higanbana Fields.”

Glowing _Higanbana_. They were an exotic specie of flora growing only in the darker recesses of the Realms, said to be an indicator of strong volcanic activity and a steady flow of magma underneath as they only seemed to flourish heavily in this extreme environment. They came in a few choice shades: red, blue and, the ones which grew marvelously in the rather explosive territories of the Heathen, Exile and Badlands, white. 

Whenever a volcano would erupt, Glowing _Higanbana_ would become brighter, marking the darkness before the blooms instantaneously died out as if a final show of beauty before the demise that inevitably came.

“What had you been doing in the Heathen Lands, Gapa? Isn’t that place dangerous?”

“Dangerous? That actually depends on where you go once you’re there...” smiled his godfather. “Only those who wander aimlessly ever get lost in the Realms, my boy.”

_‘If it gets me out of Zeles, I’d gladly want to be lost,’_ Maco thought, looking around some more at the photos that seem to multiply with Gapa’s every trip to the Realms. A collection of memories. It wouldn’t be such a bad way to live.

Maco had his eyes fixed on the image of his godfather’s daughters, looking at their pretty faces and lovely dresses, a sense of familiarity and warmth creeping into his chest, remembering the days when he used to still see them here. Glory days. Simple days. Before he noticed something on the mantle.

It was a metal cylinder, its cap etched and sealed with the coat of the Blazing Beacon and a proud-looking Pascal’s Lamb. Alchemists. Maco turned to ask, “Is this a Spell Gapa?”

The trader’s brow rose in question, lifting a head and stopping for a moment. “Why yes.

”It’s a teleportation glyph to be exact, but can only be used twice. Once to, once from.”

It was no secret that spells and magic were a traded commodity in the Realms, ranging from the simplest of Breathing Potions to the more potent of Conjures such as those that can summon monsters, spirits, or alter the weather. 

In desert areas, those spells which can make it rain during drier months were a fad. They can be purchased (with the correct authorization) from trade or magic towns and Mage shops sanctioned under the Magick Council, the Faction responsible for all things related to the Magical Arts. Well, all except for those used by the holy of Legion. Those were marked as forbidden. 

Traded Spells are often harmless, and were required to be beneficial, but there are some which manage to get past the regulations and endanger people, causing adverse effects when used inappropriately or with the wrong intentions. Like those backfiring Wishes sold in the Verooma towns for example. They were the embodiment of the old adage, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ The curious often got into peril with these Bottles of Faked Miracle.

“This must be expensive,” Maco said rather thoughtlessly, intrigued by the idea of teleportation. He wondered how much in Faction Gold it cost. 

In the Kingdom, everyone had the chance to learn spells. Magic was open for all to discover under any of the factions though standards would certainly vary depending on the group one would wish to be part of. However it was common for mixed skill members, for example, an Alchemist to be able to cast similar spells as a Mage; or for a Knight to wield the powers of a Necromancer. Even the Church used Dark skills to subdue rogue among their holy.

But teleportation was an entirely different thing. To be able to use the skill, one is required vast reserves of power in order to traverse over distances between two points that could be so far apart. And it was dangerous especially when packaged like the ones traders used. Not to mention the price tag, though this was necessary, important because it saves time delivering goods. 

Maco reached a hand to feel the surface of the cylinder, but his godfather immediately cautioned him against it. “We do not play with spells of this magnitude. They can only be used once and we must make them count.”

Using a teleportation spell cuts travel that would usually take days, even weeks, or months to accomplish. From Zeles alone, the distance was so great it was a couple of months on the road to Bassilea, passing by a number of locales first before reaching Port Town which kept the Gate leading to the Trinity Realm of Abyssalia. 

You will then land on Orienta or the nearest town the portals could open to, where for the next half of time you will need to travel through the Inner Island, the Magickal Forest, the Heathen Lands or the Deserts depending on the route - and there were many. There was also an option underground but people won’t usually take it. The roads there were mystical, the denizens of a severe disposition, and the tunnels a labyrinth that cause confusion. 

It would just be that far! 

Without the proper teleportation spells, it was difficult to get perishable goods safely to places. Thus traders made it a point that when it came to that, they required their members to at least have one or two of these expensive cylinders on hand at each post. 

“What’s it like to travel using this spell?” asked the boy, walking over to his godfather’s table to keep himself from touching the container. 

The trader considered for a moment, “It would be like riding a whirlwind; if you can imagine standing at the center of a horizontal tornado, that would be it. Then on its walls winding around, you can actually see the various locations of our world flashing by...people from other areas, living their lives on the Upperground or the Underground.

“You need to be careful of these images however. Never reach your hand out to the winds, or you’ll find yourself landing on the wrong destination.”

The wrong destination. So such accidents did happen during teleportation? That made Maco frown. He always thought of this form of travel to be as simple as stepping into a doorway then stepping out onto a new place altogether. Looks like he thought wrong.

“Gapa?”

“Hmm?” the trader scribbled some calculations onto a parchment, transferring the same thing onto another piece of paper for documentation purposes. He’ll compile these with other receipts piled neatly away to the side. 

“Are teleportation spells the most powerful there are?” the boy asked out of curiosity. It had been something he wanted to know for a time.

The older man stopped. “Well, what do you think?”

Maco paused for thought. “Fire spells perhaps?”

“Why do you think so?”

Maco paused again before answering. “Because they consume all? I mean the Queen is a Phoenix isn’t she? And they say she’s unstoppable once she begins burning everything?”

The Queen was fierce, that was what they all said, the only being on the Realms capable of consuming all that was in sight with unquenchable fire. But she was likewise a secretive soul, one who did not make appearances. Then again weren’t all members of the Royal Family? 

Who in the world has ever seen all of them in one place together? The Royal Pair had more than twenty children but none known to have been spotted in the common places of the Kingdom. The Palaces were staffed by ghosts and Soot Sprites, and personalities that kept themselves as anonymous as the house they stewarded. Secrecy was security to the Royal Family. This secrecy was just as heavily guarded.

Gapa smiled. He leaned on his chair, pushing it back slightly, before easing out and standing up. He went to pick a smaller log from among the pile just to the side and fed it to the fire, patting Maco on the head as he passed him. He eyed the cylinder with the spell contained inside as he dusted his hands, then warming them against the new blaze.

“Spells become all the more powerful as they are stacked together. This is typical when you are ‘Maging’ in battle,” said the trader. “Some of these combinations become very strong that they can take out armies in one blast...”

Maging is what happens when a spell-caster uses his or her magic effectively in battle. Spell-Stacking is when you combine any number of spells to create a very powerful defensive or offensive attack. This is typical of the members in the Magick Council, the particular group of individuals such as the Levels (one to four, the latter being the more powerful) and High Mages who were beasts when it came to this department. It was their expertise, popular names including those of Lord Rajat and now his current successor, Takuna Melancholy, whom perhaps is the most gifted in the Realms when it came to stacking. 

But then their spells were not entirely the most powerful.

Everyone knows that there would always be something greater than the strength one has...the King himself said those words.

“When mages combine spells, they can move mountains, create or destroy it...but what use is a good stack when it is canceled?” Gapa asked Maco, reaching for a book of matches to light his pipe, pressing shredded herbs in before they were lighted. “The strongest spells belong to the Specifics, created by the goddess Ela Chuf herself according to legend. 

“But it’s not just any particular Specific, I meant that which is called the Null.”

Specifics were the Holy Spells of the Legion Church, just as one called those of Mages ‘Conjures’. To obtain a set of these, one needed to give up their mortality to be made holy, before undergoing the final test of obtaining bibles that in turn dictated which god or goddess it was that a member would represent under the order. 

There would be normal priests and priestesses, monks, crusaders, then ministers, cardinals and popes. The most powerful was the head of the Legion Church, the Clergy or Saint, which was an inherited position, passed on from the previous generation to the next. Rochis Arthforth was the last head that held this post, but it had been ordained onto his son when he died. The previous Eminence was of a deadly Creature Class, the Ancient Snake, and people believed his child to possess near-similar qualities.

Legion was a force in itself. Maco remembered seeing a pair of popes pass their village some years before. They had appeared like children, except their faces betrayed a determination and a maturity not found in him. They wore pristine robes- cassocks with the gleaming crucifixes, dark boots, gloves with the crosses of the Church, the holy staves, and one even carried a very large bible twice his height with no effort at all. 

They were off to a mission on the outskirts, vanishing through the mist to quell the consumed Necromancers causing ruin somewhere in the Regions.

The news that came back told of their utter success. Those two single-handedly took down the army that was reportedly as large a gathering as a town. Imagine, to have such power...and at such an age... Legion was scary. Wolves in the guise of sacred sheep.

“So then it’s Legion? They are the most powerful of factions? Because Specifics can only be used by them?” asked Maco, his eyes drifting to instinctively find that picture of his godfather posing under the arched doorway of a cathedral. 

The good thing about trade was that you traded with anyone, any faction, and you met these interesting people along the way, see the places where they have been.

“Perhaps. But each faction has its own strength or weakness. What one cannot achieve, another can,” Gapa replied. He had been huffing with his pipe for some time now. “Also consider that the Null is not only limited to Legion although they are the only faction that requires it to be a constant in the arsenal of their members.”

This surprised Maco that he looked at his godfather, baffled.

“Other factions have Null spells?” 

The trader laughed. “But of course my boy. But of course,” he said. “But they are only used by a select few...the Heads in particular.” Gapa pointed the longer tip of his pipe at him in emphasis. 

Maco followed the gesture, noting how the older man had touched the thing to his heart. 

“How do heads learn the Null then?” the boy asked straightforwardly, baffled it appeared but quite curious. 

Gapa thought how he resembled his father in all aspect - personality, mannerism, character. He would be as great as the man someday. His godfather smiled. 

“They are not learned,” he said. “They are _earned_.”

* * *

“Kiras, I think you shouldn’t be snooping,” someone called through the foggy haze of an early morning, somewhere in the Trinity Realms. 

Silas, the Battle Pope, chose to sit and wait nearest a tree as his twin poked his head about, restless again and very much impatient, his brother only frowning as the latter balanced the transformable Ferula across his shoulders, draping his wrists over its length.

“Please don’t do that,” Silas scolded, only to be met by Kiras’ brow flying up in an expression. 

“How come? Shouldn’t we be making sure the Clergy’s all right?” 

“Oh hush you,” his twin returned a same expression. “It is not for us to meddle with, and please wear your gloves!”

The difference between them was apparent. Though twins, they were two different beings: Silas was the more conservative and traditional, his hair brushed back cleanly, robes pressed and smoothed; Kiras was more of a rebel with his locks left free, gloves always off, disheveled in appearance and often rugged. 

Yet they were some of the more talented in the faction, strong enough to have been made Popes at age ten and now, at age thirteen, becoming the Clergy’s left and right hands. Actually, at the moment, they were more like babysitters. Their charge was way younger in years. 

The Clergy was only three, the son to the late Saint and the princess of a Hell Realm, oddly enough. He was a very _special_ child.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Kiras finally decided to sit it down, resting his staff against the tree as he accepted the slice of Papple his brother offered, yawning. 

“Please Kiras, your manners are terrible,” Silas said indignantly, peeling another fruit with his back prompted straight, the very image of opposition as his twin chuckled at his formality.

“You’re too uptight.” 

“As opposed to you. Too slack.”

The Rebel Pope simply threw the slice into his mouth, folding his arms behind his head and resting on them. With a lazy sigh he relaxed against the curving tree, chewing the bitter then sweet Papple. Ah, the typical taste, but to the unworthy, the fruit was always sour, then simply poisonous...

The day was beginning to clear, and there was a short amount of mist by which to hide. They will still be off to a quest in the afternoon and another task more a little later that, their technically full schedule dictating each activity with precise details. But nevertheless the Clergy still took time to make this call in his itinerary. An unexpected stop. The Half-Saint was here to meet someone very important to him.

The twins resigned to their peace with a heave of breath, exhaling, each pausing as they cast eyes at one another. 

The birds were chirping, the clouds idle...everything seemed peaceful enough. If only it truly was. They knew the Kingdom had its constant turmoil and chaos. Hell, in truth, was always at the door. If it wasn’t, Legion wouldn’t need to battle all the time. They doubted there’d even be Legion to begin with.

The twin Popes cast a glance at the _other two_  beyond them at almost the same time, their movements too in sync despite being distinct. Each noted with much understanding how those _two shadows_ in the mist, a short distance off, now looked more of the same height, two teenagers of equal age as they were. The only strangeness was that one of them had a definite set of horns growing out of his head, its outline clearly visible from point to point despite the fog. 

“Looks like _Ghost’s_ here,” said Kiras to which Silas agreed quietly. 

The latter stuck to peeling his fruit with the pen blade, not looking up again, realizing that they might be here a while longer.


	16. The Saint Returns to the Archives I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest Author: Rochis Isaiah Vaughn Arthforth
> 
> The original Clergy, now a Saint, of the Church, returns to the most infamous and secretive keep in the Trinity Realms, the Legion Archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He, the Author-san for this chapter, was in coma for almost four years when he finally woke up. We welcomed him back home by having him descend into an aspect of our collective story which he had been involved the most in the last few decades.  
> 

**Church of Endless Arches** _  
_Associated Faction: Legion Church  
Location: Abyssalia Trinity Realms; Arcanta __  
-this Holy Legion Church might be smaller than most other churches, but it is one of the most important. Endless Arches is the Church which holds the entrance to the Legion's Holiest of Archives which in turn hold many of the Kingdom's Secrets and History. To gain access into the Archives, two 'keys' must be obtained: one is the Key forged from the metal hearts of the very rare and protected Volcanus Dragons; the other are inscriptions of the Holy Language found inside the Skull Caverns in the Realm. The keys can only be used once then are rendered useless after.

* * *

> **Section One: Endless Arches Atrium to Entrance**

_' To whom the capability was given, so was faith also bestowed. '_

This was common belief and the first thing any Legion Bible volume was ever inscribed with.

During _Sensing_ , that process by which Legionnaires are  _made,_ it was the chant that carried many Converts from their previous states into being Holy, and, from there, walking onwards onto the straight path to never ever look back.

 _My journey_ had began with that.

And it had ended with that once as well, only, to surprisingly begin again with it all the same...

Endless Arches was a structure of old that stands close to my heart. Recollection served little when everything is still vivid to one such as I, the pathway from the Atrium still riddled with its tales that I could enumerate one by one, outlines in memory still walking its marble and whispering advice, the personages that had been here, their quarrels with the world and their despair, their sorrows and happiness that had been my own.

I recall them all.

I walked the distance from where it spanned, the gardens rising both sides in this darkness, towards the Doors, wondering if the moon had maybe become paler as of late or was that the haze of Holy aura that had blurred it completely?

From under the shadows of the arches, I started to think how balance had somewhat shifted in the Church when my sons had taken over. Was the halfway state of their hearts and souls not enough to feed the flames and keep it burning, or was it the other way around though it had somehow tipped the scales?

I had done that once, thrown the Church off its course, Falling out of Grace, never truly correcting it even in Penitence, marrying to want.

I should have been more selfless. But I erred. A Saint who has forgotten the purpose of being one and the consequences that it incurred. Now something my offsprings might have paid for.

Yet to consider them as a mistake. No. It would never be so. A miracle was a miracle whatever they had been born into: the flesh, the bones, the blood mattered not. Not even what had become of them. They were still miracles to I. I would never ask to change history, perish to entertain the thought, I forbid even to imagine it, to alter the sum of my own blunderings.

I love them as they were in the end.  
Though I would have wanted more time...

"Good morrow," a priest on patrol of the Church's outer walls had taken notice of my presence as I paused there, enamoured with the night, had drifted in my contemplation apparently.

I had chastised myself then, but quietly moving with enough stealth to reach a palm up to cover his eyes immediately.

"Good morrow," to return, whispering a Specific I knew that put one to sleep, the very same I had once used on a boy from Destia that is likewise dear to me.

Once this Holy awakes, he will not remember. I would just be another fleeting dream, some apparition that had visited in the dead of night...

Resting him to the side of the Doors, I stood there briefly and gathered over the face of the entrance, admiring as I always had any and all of the composition and architecture, the hand-crafted design of the many buildings that speckled Legion's territories, linked in an arachnid's web made of the faithful's spiritual gossamers. They extended in reach all across the land. This was the Faction's Soul Threads. In Sainthood one could see them as I would always see them. I wondered if the two had seen them now as well?

Lifting a hand, I had traced fingers lightly over a certain curlature there, one perhaps invisible within the carvings and, in truth, was a secret to these Doors. It acted in such a way that it prevented the energy within from escaping but would allow one entry through its arch. A slight shove and the surface gave, an entrance opening without having to disturb the larger way. Enough for one Saint to pass, stepping over the threshold into the silence of the inside.

How nostalgic. It had been a while has it not? How welcoming these many thoughts as I cast the outside a final glance...

I had wanted to take my time. Inside one of these humbler spaces which I held much reverence for, one I had a hand in founding, I want to rediscover my own existence before _sleep_ had deprived me of it. To regain some recognition of four years gone.

I did come here on the reason of another, yet perhaps that was merely the excuse, of me wanting to know what had passed while I slumbered, while my cousin slumped beside my sarcophagus in mourning.

While others mourned...

With a light push, I sealed myself in, inhaling the thickness of the powers fogging these walls enough that even in this blackness there was a sunlight and a warmth.

It was home.

I had come home...

* * *

> **Section Two: Inner Sanctum**

Here was a gentle silence I missed. Unlike most other Legion churches, Endless Arches was not open to the public. It served a different purpose, the stopper to things that needed to be kept. Unless there was High Mass being officiated, it remained more a sanctuary for the beginning Acolytes, built with a Rectory attached to one side, the actual Altar occupying the other, accessible through doorways hidden behind heavy velvet curtains...

Home to many priests, Endless Arches had hundreds at a time maintaining it though only the outside was heavy with guarding. The inside had its own defense, but these were secrets themselves resigned behind double walls and certain unseen passages.

Chandelier clusters were visible above, their outlines defined even under a shroud of shadows, forty in total in groups of five, a significant number for the Trinity, the Trinity Smith in fact leaving names carved at the base of each installation, the crystals coloured in the hue representing the said immortalized name.

Rose quartz...this was Chrysanthemum's I was standing under, stepping forward with a hush to appreciate the amethysts of Orchid's, then in recollection knowing mine would be at the very end, between the fork that split to lead left or right or centre where another set of Doors awaited.

The Archives. Hallowed of all Keep. This church was built for it with every stone, brick and marble...chambers, sections and unaccounted passages serving the cause. I knew each one of them by heart. I had been here when construction began from its very core to the last pebble hammered gently neath the weight of its first arch outside. Each area was familiar. Each held a memory.

I could still hear laughter as the Smith celebrated when our efforts resulted in the last tile placed, our names carved carefully under it, marking the holy building's completion.

That had been a while before.

The Old Mason, where had he vanished to? I knew he still existed in the world somewhere, travelling the vast expanse of the Kingdom unseen, in similarity still standing like the best of his constructions, still standing like myself...

"Twenty seven suns and twenty eight moons," Judecca used to say.

The tiles had always been decidedly counted by _his_ small steps, a chubby face with its wide smile as he used to hop alternately between the inlaid celestial bodies on these floors, stamping them in his own way to make his unusual census.

What he did not know was that there was a 28th sun. It was however scarce noticed as all but remained of its tile was a strip of one side, filling the gap the Old Mason had ironically left on purpose under the weight of the Three Inner Doors.

For some reason he always bestowed a tiny flaw to his largest of works. As if to say it was normal to be imperfect. How fitting a reminder to many. That Smith was mad yet he had wisdom under his calm face and under the load of his large calloused hands.

Though now I more remember how those tiny steps echoed across this hall, how little hands tried to clap the place into light, always telling me to allow them the pleasure only to end up pouting in frustration. Fond memories. Of curious days when the priests chased after them both across the rooms, Judecca managing to lock himself inside the Golden Chandelier Room, had in fact pushed back the more ornate of the two entrances, the three heavy walls that composed it, butterflying so easily in.

He had been crying. I leaned my forehead against the doors and whispered with prayers. "It is all right my son. Papa is here..."

I opened my eyes. These memories. They beat into their own life sometimes that they arrest my consciousness, as if I was asleep again and dreaming of being awake. The Doors are cold once more, the hall was still enveloped with dark, and I was merely here to descend the depths of rediscovery before maybe returning to everything else.

I pushed myself off that stance, a hand lain on the surface of the entrance but not pushing at it. Not yet. I stared over myself. I was undoubtedly inadequately dressed, presentable to some degree, but not presentable enough for the location I was to enter.

Perhaps I should consider, nay, I decided, turning a heel to press on towards the Rectory instead, easing aside the heavy curtains that hid the way.

 _'I will not be long,'_ I promised, whatever living mist that rolled upon these corners. I had not been met with hostilities. That was a good sign.

I was still apparently remembered by what I had left...

* * *

> **Section Two-L(eft): Rectory**

Tracing my way towards the Rectory. Tracing days when I used to frequent here, curious to see if they had still kept my rooms or renovated them for another purpose perhaps. Heading up the flight of stairs while counting the stone banisters passed, recalling how the taps of the Ferula fell in monotonic intervals against the marble, how soothing they had been.

Farthest wall. Far removed. A library wedged between the other living spaces and the space that used to be my sanctum. Another pair of ornate doors common to the church but humbler as the Old Mason had described it.

Did the locks still give way to me? I found the little inlays of patrons ascending into their canonized state still there, immortally enraptured of the blessed light. A slight summon of holy and if they sense one to be who they were the figures should move to reveal the key hole.

Not surprisingly that they had come to heed, the small figures tumbling aside to show that gape, the Master's Key inserted to undo the locks within, unseen, allowing my hand the quiet push to render the entrance open.

I glanced back the path whence I came. I had not disturbed the other slumbering monks in their own chambers. Thank the gods. As into these familiar corners I next stepped and sealed myself in.  
Has someone been here to tidy after everything?

It is somehow amusing that the things I left were left as they were, where they usually had been, as if in wait for myself to return and make use of them again.

A fresh fold of robes, pressed and starched, neatly sat on the chair near the corner with the pair of gloves, where they knew I always meander to in fish of clothing beyond the closet I could always have walked into. The ornaments in boxes and trinkets staying locked and as they were, with only one of the polished crucifixes lain out on a plain scarlet cloth, the chains wrapped and hidden, save the very crux itself, which was left exposed.

Why must it feel as if somehow to traverse here was to transgress my own memories?

The disconnection you felt with having not been in one place you had most functioned. Maybe it was due the years? He who had been here seemed to have been another though him and I were one and the same.

Into the bath briefly but wasting no time there, slipping on the vestments usual to the Clergyhood and fitting these gloves.

Quite pleasant to the skin, having don them on again, light on the form and just as easier to move in as opposed to the Ceremonials they had left me in during my slumber. This was better yet somehow still incomplete...

To awake to the hiss of the Ancient Snake, that had been daunting. I had never seen my Old Friend outside of my own mind's eye save the day before we became one, but happy just the same that he had guarded the gates of the house where I bed in death. He had stayed near while I was unaware, albeit separated from the Host he had formerly joined into.

I may have to reclaim him once more, but for now, he slithers free elsewhere, with the intent to come home eventually as well, to soon enough nest where he had nested for eons hopefully. Within me, down my very soul...

The last bit I took was the crucifix, tossing its lengthy chain over my head, slipping it on, tucking it neath the very collar of the robes, pressing the representation close to my chest in prayer like I habitually did.

To Whom was my devotion when there were too many gods? I had the Answer but that was not to be said. It was to be seen...

Checking myself over one last time, finding my hair to have reached a length I needed to comb and then tie back, at last I was ready to slip out onto my explorations again, leaving things in order as I had found them earlier. Although it may come as a surprise...

I had left the Ceremonials there on the bed, hoping that whoever came to maintain the space be not startled. I smiled to myself however at the image. I truly mean no harm by that simple jest.

* * *

> **Section Two-R(ight): Church Main Altar**

The emerald nave where the Main Altar was located is unchanged. At least from what I could visibly tell, silently treading its length up from the aisle to its intersecting centre, only to make it to the crossing with its transepts left and right still in their antique condition, the Side Altars and the one before me and its steps adorned with candlelight. Small flickering tapers in their holders and steel, more fanciful metalwork, other taller candles already smouldering.

I lit a candle, looking up to the face of the frozen statue that represented one of the gods. Blessed among few. The constricted glare somehow making it eerie and solemn all the same. While there was nothing pouring in from outside. There had been clouds that had covered the moon maybe. The rose windows only reflected what glow there was here within...

That day this area was consecrated, there had been much celebration, the other Churches in the network of the Faction echoing with trumpets and hymns, while here, in this holy inside, there were the low humming of psalters, the choirs in their dazed state praying fervently.

I remember performing the High Mass, how it had been walking this path to lead the chorus of devotees. There was always something amazing about it. Then similar to all churches I had founded, I also did t h i s here...

Returning to the crossing, I found that space, the very same one where I had, these several years past, right before the Main Altar and its symbols, commemorated the occasion.

I knelt, one knee then the next, sliding my right hand's fingers over myself in the sign of the known Legion cross, following the ordination rites as if this was the first time that I had received my priesthood. Bending down to touch my forehead to the floor itself and offer my own quiet questions, pushing myself up again only so I could spread my arms on either side in supplication.

Then lying back down once more, prostrate this time, whispering one of the many shorter litanies I had committed to memory, recalling that day, when I had vowed once more to be what I was, to be one with this vocation...

// May He, your Patron, who has begun this good work in you bring it to fulfillment. // sang the choir and rose the hymn in my recollection.

And all of the Faithful sayeth then,  
"Amen..."

* * *

> **Section Two (Returning): Inner Sanctum**

There was but one set of doors. It had been constructed to open towards the inside with a necessary strong push, snapping shut like a trap, most unfortunate whoever was caught between, for even petrified stone or diamonds could be crushed here easy and that was not boasting. It was a fact.

I had returned to stand before these doors once more, moving to lay a gloved palm over the golden inlays, feeling a beating that in a way meant the connection was still very much strong and existing.

The Archives was an enormous entity. Every section was connected to itself. It was very much alive. But now I was struck with a dilemna.

"It had slipped my mind entirely how noisy these doors can be," I chuckled in the low light, giving myself a mental face palm for forgetting.

Opening the doors meant that the entire church would ring and vibrate, the snapping motion caused by the butterfly entrances upon closing alone enough to make the smaller church building quake. I needed enough time to descend and would rather a peaceful journey. An issue indeed. Then again am I not the Clergy that once toiled along these walls?

"Vanae was right when she said I needed a loophole among my own devices, bless her cold suggestions," I smiled in remembrance of the Primal High Mage.

Of course there was a way within that required minimum effort, but those who knew were few and unyielding, and would bring these secrets to the grave. Besides they were not for everyone to accomplish.

I slipped off the glove from my right hand, carefully loosening it by the tips before pulling it off completely, making a half fold of it to tuck into my robe's pocket carefully and next to run naked fingers over that door once more, exerting a bit of Holy Essence to drum at some of the decorative designs carved in. I wonder if the Trinity Smith had not forgotten. There should be one here...

"Ah there you are."

A growl and a wild hiss suddenly and I knew I had found it, something horrific among these eternal doors, forever sealed into its surface. It was in essence a lock, but warped and greedy, transformed by the Ancient Mason's masterful techniques. There were many of it found on this stretch of the Archive, to ensure the passes that were the 'holes' to the construction were not weaknesses but were in fact hindrances.

But truly. These are horrid things. I frowned and raised a brow as the small grotesque face literally swam up and surfaced yet, remaining melted into the heavier door, could all but groan lowly, opening its mouth.

As to why I had decided to use these, I am not particularly certain even after all these eons. But admittedly it was a clever way to secure the Archives. Why, because these 'Life Lockers' were trained at smithing to develop a particular taste for only one being's specific blood and essence.

They became hostile traps to anyone else, and often resulted into a less than ideal end...

One could guess. As a maker of the Archives, its locks naturally...were trained to accept o n l y what was mine.

It had gaped its mouth and waited as I took a minute to ponder. N e v e r indulge the Old Smith when you were both drunk, nor was it wise to humour him while at it and while he was trying out a new 'System'. It meant he had something crookedly ingenious in mind.

The existence of these Life Lockers down the stretch of the Archives was something actually made on a whim, when, thinking up of a way to seal the keep but ensuring that there be a slight opening left ajar, the Old Mason had determined (to my agreement somehow) to use these _special locks_ which he had forged alongside the doors.

Locks which grew in size as you passed each section. To think there was a number of them along my way. Ah well. I had wanted to undertake this endeavour. I had not the intentions to turn back.

I gathered myself with a sigh, lifting a single finger and inserting that into the Locker's open mouth. It had instantly clamped around the said finger, a metallic grip that adjusted to a firm fit which held me in place while I waited for the inevitable prick, the feel of suction, both blood and essence leaving.

In a sense, this was comparable to using the left and right locks in the innermost part of the Archives, though infinitely this is worse as one may die upon these Lockers and not even be able to open one.  
As I had said, they were greedy. If it was not the one to whom they were trained to, well, then I would be a husk right now, drained of anything that had not satisfied the Locker's hunger.

After a few minutes, it had released my finger, myself staring at the shriveled digit before the natural healing had run its course and all traces of the offering had disappeared. It had not hurted. Not that it would have bothered me if it ever did, but the insane amount that it had drawn was undeniable. This would have left someone else faint.

I stepped back. Another sigh as I waited. The Locker had began to swim back into the doors and was doing what it had been programmed to, that is, to pry open that said opening we had long ago left ajar in the Archives...


End file.
